Bite Me
by Mardy Lass
Summary: Babies, werewolves, wrong ends of many sticks and plain ol’ shootin’ and cussin’. Same-old same-old then, for a Winchester. Set some time between 3.11: Mystery Spot and 3.14: Long Distance Call. NO SEASON 4 SPOILERS!
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's Note:**_

_I like my werewolves big, very wolf-like and shaggy._

* * *

**ONE**

He sat at the large wooden dresser, his elbows on the hard surface, his fists under either side of his chin, staring with apprehension and annoyance at the object on the surface in front of him.

It jiggled and bounced its feet, rocking the tiny carrier seat slightly. It burbled little watery sounds, dribbling and chirping happy noises to itself, apparently amused. Whether it was happy because of the brightly coloured mobile hanging from the slight canopy above its head, or the knowledge that it was causing abject fear and worry in its audience was unclear.

"What's she doing?" Sam called, out of sight through the far bathroom door.

"Staring at me," Dean replied from the dressing table, glaring at the baby in trepidation.

"Good - keep her happy," Sam called back.

Dean muttered something unkind, then noticed the baby's face squirming and twisting, apparently content to make miraculously innocent expressions to herself.

"Why'd we get stuck with you anyway?" he groused under his breath sourly, gesturing to the baby with his chin. "Why does Sam have to have such big ears?"

The baby giggled and bounced her feet again, tiny white booties flailing cheerfully. One of them scuffed his arm slightly. He moved back out of range hastily.

"You're not big and you're not clever," he grumbled, with a slight baring of teeth.

The baby shifted and sniffed to herself, her face falling as Dean watched a red tinge come to her cheeks. She opened her mouth and a thin wail began.

"Sam! It's making noise again!" he called fearfully, leaning back away from the table hurriedly. The wail turned into a piercing cry. It quickly morphed into a screech that even Mariah Carey would have found octavely challenging. "Sam! Make it stop! _Saaaaum_!" Dean bawled, apparently just as helpless as the child.

"What is it?" Sam called, appearing from the bathroom brandishing a baby's plastic bottle. "She alright?"

"How should I know?" Dean demanded anxiously over the noise. "But my first guess would be 'no'!"

Sam crossed the room quickly, holding the bottle out to his older brother. Dean looked at him with suspicion.

"Whut?"

"Feed her."

"_You_ feed her!" Dean protested.

"I've got a bathroom to clean!" he pointed out.

"Shove that thing in its mouth before I do something I'll regret not regretting later!" he snapped, and Sam recognised how close his brother was to the end of his patience.

_Being up all night tracking and killing werewolves hasn't helped his mood_, he observed.

Sam motioned him up and out of the way and Dean quickly vacated his chair. He watched Sam set the bottle on the table and lift the baby from the seat, shushing and bouncing her slightly as he sat down. Dean backed away one, his eyes hard and round, unable to look away. Sam cradled her in his arm and grabbed the bottle, doing his best to get it near her tiny mouth.

After a few attempts the girl gripped the sucker and it was all settled. She chugged contentedly, and Sam relaxed, blowing out a long sigh. He watched her, smiling slightly to himself.

"See? All she needed was--" he began, looking up. He stopped abruptly.

Dean was staring at the bottle fixedly, his expression the result of absolute concentration warring with puzzlement.

"What?" Sam asked, surprised.

Dean started, looking at Sam quickly. "Whut?"

"I said what is it?" he pressed.

"Nuthin'," he scowled. "We need to get rid of it." Then he cleared his throat and straightened. "We need to find its parents and return it," he amended, much more confidently, and turned away to locate his phone.

Sam watched him for a moment, shook his head, and then looked down at the tiny baby girl, still chugging the milk down in much the same way as Dean went about alcohol. Dean found his phone but turned to see his younger brother smiling at his little charge. He backed away from them both, sitting on the bed behind him and staring.

Sam watched her finish the bottle before he pulled it away from her gently. He set it on the table, watching her tiny face go through a million different expressions, as if testing muscles to see just what they were for.

He stroked a finger against her face softly and she made a giggling noise, her little feet moving against his arm.

"She's kinda cute though," Sam smiled, shifting the giggling baby against his arm more comfortably.

"It ain't _cute_. Cute is… a girl's eyelashes, a pithy come-back only you and me get, a grossly over-priced carburettor, a real _mini_ mini-skirt. It ain't _that_," Dean shivered in apparent repulsion. Sam shot him a questioning glance.

"What have you got against her?" he asked, surprised.

Dean raised his hand. "Two words, Sam: _smell_," he stressed, ticking off a finger, "and _noise_." He tapped the other finger before letting his hands drop. Sam just rolled his eyes. "Oh, _and_ the fact that it's not ours and we've been saddled with it. Cos of that thing I've had no sleep, no breakfast, no coffee," he grumbled, then paused. "Why'd you have to notice it there anyway?"

"It's a _she_, Dean. And you'd rather she was left out there, in a barn littered with werewolf corpses?"

"The police were already busting in - they would have found it if you'd just left it where it was!" he snapped.

The girl's face turned sour and she began to grizzle.

"Now look what you've done," Sam accused him as she began to cry.

"See that? It sounds how I feel."

Sam lifted her to his shoulder and tried to soothe her, but she screeched and wriggled. The younger Winchester got up quickly and crossed the room, holding her out to Dean.

He just looked at him. "Whut?"

"Take her. I'll find diapers," he said irritably.

Dean muttered something but put his hands out, taking the infant. He looked at it with complete and utter distaste as it bawled and dangled from his outstretched arms.

Sam gestured to his shoulder. "Let her lean on you," he advised.

"Come here and I'll lean on _you_," Dean threatened.

Sam simply waved a hand at him and walked off in the direction of the bathroom.

The screaming intensified and Dean grumbled before letting the wailing baby lie against his chest, her head inadvertently against the base of his throat.

The noise stopped immediately.

Sam rushed out from the bathroom. "What happened? Is she alright?" he blurted.

"Yeah…" Dean managed, mystified. "It just... stopped," he shrugged.

Sam grinned suddenly. "She likes you."

"Don't you dare be amused at me, Steve Guttenberg," he snapped. "Get the damn diapers."

"Tell you what," Sam said over his shoulder, going back into the bathroom, "I'll leave _you_ the diapers and then _I'll_ go check to see if any parents have reported her missing."

"Couldn't you do the diaper thing and _then_ check for parents?" Dean hoped.

Sam came back out of the bathroom holding the bag of baby gear. "Do you want to get rid of her?"

"Hell yeah," Dean breathed, trying to look down at the quiet infant. She was clutching at the black cord hanging round his neck, gurgling.

"Then I'll get going. You sort the diaper," Sam said neatly, dumping the bag next to Dean before turning and making a quick exit from the room.

Dean sighed and let his shoulders sag as he heard the front door close firmly behind his brother.

_Could be worse_, he thought wearily, _we could still have live werewolves running around out there._

He sat and consoled himself with the fact that they had actually done a good job clearing a barn full of werewolves last night. He was trying to let it make him feel better about his current situation. He was very nearly succeeding when he realised his t-shirt was sticking to him. He frowned in confusion, looking down to find the area of stickiness was in the exact same spot as the baby's head.

"Awwwww, no!" he protested, lifting the infant away from him and finding a large patch of dribble, mixed with a strange, milk-like substance. "_Gross!_" he heaved, standing and holding the baby at arms' length.

He looked around the room, trying to find somewhere to put her down. He turned back to the carrier chair on the dresser, depositing her in it quickly and then pulling at his t-shirt to look at it in horror. He felt his fingers squish into something on the cotton and let go quickly.

"Gimme entrails! Gimme shapeshifter slime or - or - chewed body parts! Anything but _you_!" he cried.

He hurried to the bathroom and elbowed on the tap. Cold water blasted out and he shoved his hands under a little too eagerly. The water was deflected onto the front of his jeans and he gasped at the chilly shock just where he didn't need it. He sprang back and banged into the open door, catching just the right angle of his funny bone to send a painful jab up his entire arm.

"Son of a bitch!" he managed, grasping at his elbow. He heard cheerful giggling from the outer room and cursed under his breath.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to let it out slowly. He made himself walk calmly to the sink. He turned off the tap, dried his hands, and just looked at the large wet patch over the entire button-fly area of his jeans.

He just shook his head, tossed the towel into the bath, and walked out. He went over to the infant, standing over her with his hands on his hips, thinking.

"Ok then… Let's just get this over with," he tutted.

He went back to the bathroom and found a large towel, taking it back to the table and laying it out. He picked up the baby - carefully - and laid her out on her back. Her lemon yellow jumpsuit, the one she had been wearing when Sam had found her - was still remarkably clean. He looked it over slowly, trying to remember how Sam had closed the poppers the night before after changing her nappy. But all he remembered was the noise.

And the smell.

He shook his head, located two poppers next to each other at her side, and pulled them open. She giggled and her feet kicked about.

"Stay still," he commanded gruffly, pushing them gently out of the way to pull the rest of the lower poppers open. She gurgled and made raspberry noises, but he would not be distracted. Instead he pulled the white boots off her feet and then slid the lower half of the jumpsuit off her legs to reveal a large, white nappy.

Full with smelly promise.

He took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and let it out again. Then he opened up the tapes at the side of the nappy gingerly, peeling it all away.

He gasped and then felt himself gagging.

He pressed his right forearm to his mouth quickly to stop the gag reflex following through. He looked at the ceiling fixedly.

_The ceiling is your friend, the ceiling is your friend_, he chanted in his head, over and over.

Once he was sure he could take the smell and the sight of the contents of the nappy, he looked down long enough to drag it off the small giggling creature. He folded it up quickly, one arm again pressed to his mouth and nose as he hurried it into the bathroom bin.

He came back and just looked at the messy, happy infant, currently rolling around on her back.

"Ok, no offence, but seriously, I am _not_ cleaning someone else's ass."

He looked back at the en-suite bathroom and a lightbulb went on in his head. He looked back at the baby.

"Right," he said decisively. He pulled the jumpsuit completely off the tiny bundle of strife and picked her up under the arms. "And I thought you smelt bad on the outside," he quoted. He turned and marched the baby at arms' length into the bathroom. "All we gotta do is hold on till Sam gets back - with details of your parents and how we dump you back with them," he said confidently. He put the girl down gently in the sink, looking around and wondering just what to do next.

She gave a little giggling noise and he looked at her.

"Don't you start laughing at me, too. I swore I would never do any of this again," he grumped, reaching for the tap.

.

* * *

.

Sam pulled up outside the forgotten shack, again very glad that they had found somewhere so deeply out of the way of any prying eyes in which to hide. He climbed out of the car, shrugged into his jacket uncomfortably, and went into the hut.

The front room was empty and he looked around quickly. No baby. Hearing a slight growling noise, he walked quickly through the front room and came upon the door to the first and biggest bedroom. He pushed it open and looked in.

He found his brother sat on the bed, one leg folded under him and his hands dealing cards onto the bedspread in front of him. His phone was by his side, one earphone securely housed in an ear, delivering Dean's favourite brand of music - to which he was humming not so quietly. Sam noted with some relief that the other earphone dangled over his t-shirt, unused.

"Hey," Sam said gingerly, looking over and seeing the baby in the carrier seat, on the dressing table. She looked to be sleeping.

Dean looked up. "Any luck?" he asked eagerly.

"Ah… no," Sam said quietly. He was still looking over at the infant, relieved it was snoring and bubbling with goo quite happily. "She alright?"

"Yup. Sleeping like a grown-up - at last," Dean said pointedly. "So what gives?" he added, gathering the cards together and picking up the phone, turning off the music as his other hand popped the earphone free by the cord.

"No-one has reported any babies missing in the last six months," Sam said. "No deaths, no kidnappings, no parents running off with one outside of custody allowances… nothing."

"Nothing?" Dean pressed. "So where did it come from? You think those werewolves just picked it up from the next town over?"

"I don't know," Sam said, but his face was pensive.

"Ok, you don't know. What do you _think_, Sherlock?"

"I think… Maybe the parents are dead. Maybe there's no-one to report a missing child, cos the werewolves maybe killed the remaining family." He moved over to chair in front of the dresser and sat slowly, looking at the sleeping child.

"Are you shittin' me?" Dean cried. "A bunch of werewolves break into a house, kill everyone and steal the baby? Why the hell would anyone want to _keep_ it?" he asked, horrified.

Sam levelled his sharpest damning gaze at him. "Y'know, some people actually make it their business to have kids, Dean. Which means yeah, some people actually plan to _keep_ a baby for the time it takes for them to grow up," he snapped.

"Then they're nuts."

"Like Dad?"

"I rest my case."

"That's not funny," Sam grumped. He put an elbow on the table, propping his chin up to watch the infant. "She's so small," he mused.

"Well her lungs ain't," Dean muttered. He pushed himself over the bed and stretched to put the cards on the bedside table. Sam glanced up to reprimand him for his snotty behaviour but paused.

"What happened to your arm?" he asked curiously, noticing the long welt and nearby scratch running up the inside of his brother's forearm.

"Oh, you should have seen it - we had amazing fun in the bathroom," he said, and if there had been a national shortage of sarcasm, it would have been all Dean's fault. "Someone stank like four-day-old horse manure and needed hosing down. Then, cos I hadn't slept in like twenty-four hours, we took a nap."

"We?" Sam prompted, about to be very amused.

Dean's lip curled as he flicked his annoyed eyes over at the sleeping infant. "It wouldn't stop screaming unless… unless it was lying on me. So it did," he admitted reluctantly. He looked back at his younger brother to find Sam couldn't help smiling. "Laugh all you want, Wannabe Foster Dad, but _you're_ doing the next diaper," Dean stated.

He noticed Sam's face twist abruptly, his words appearing to have delivered a horrendous emotional slap. Sam ironed it out as fast as he could. But Dean knew that look of torture, of raw anguish on his brother's face would haunt him every time he tried to convince himself he hadn't seen it.

"Ah… anyway," Dean said quickly, wondering just what he had just said to sting his younger brother so harshly, "doesn't help us figure out what to do with it."

Sam cleared his throat, bravely pretending his face had never been anything but straight. He looked at Dean with blatant disapproval. "_She_," he corrected.

"Whatever. What do we do, dump it at a hospital?" he asked innocently.

"Dean! We are not dumping her anywhere! I'll find the parents - or next of kin - and we'll explain."

"Yeah right!" Dean scoffed. "What do we say - '_hey there, Mr and Mrs Doe, we just found your baby in the middle of a secret hideout full of werewolves, but don't worry, it's perfectly fine_'," he asked, his hands out and up in query.

"Just - let me think," Sam snapped, putting his hands over his eyes and blowing out a huff. Dean watched him for a moment before looking back at his phone.

"You know what?" he asked quietly. Sam shifted his hands to look at him. "I think we should call Bobby."

"What does Bobby know about babies?" Sam asked defensively.

"Well Hell, Sam, what do _we_ know about 'em?" he shrugged. "But I meant about the werewolves, dumbass. They might have needed it for a special reason, maybe even done something to it."

"What do you mean?"

"Like… maybe they didn't need it alive," Dean shrugged, pressing numbers into his phone.

"Dean!" Sam cried angrily. His brother looked at him just as the baby opened its eyes, offended by the sudden shout.

"Whut? You know werewolves Sam, they're as bad as vampires for having nasty rituals and habits," Dean replied dismissively as the baby started to shift uncomfortably. "Maybe they had to keep it alive for something like a sacrifice, or some kind of blood--"

"Shut up!" Sam snapped, and Dean blinked, surprised into momentary submission by his sibling's ferocity. "How can you think like that?"

"Cos this is the kind of shit we see every week, Sam! What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with _you_?" Sam shot back. "How can you be so cold?"

A piercing cry interrupted them and they both looked at the now red-faced infant.

"Here we go again," Dean growled, but Sam reached over and picked the baby up quickly. He rested her against his shoulder, patting and cooing, trying to placate her. It did not appear to make the slightest bit of difference.

"That's it," Dean called over the noise, "I'm calling Bobby!"

"You seriously think he'll know what to do?"

"Come on, man - Bobby could eat flour and shit cupcakes!"

He kept one eye on Sam, trying to placate the wailing baby, and one on his thumb, dialling Bobby's number as fast as he could.

* * *

_**Thanks for reading!**_

_**Next chapter should be up momentarily. Have to catch up with the posting over at SPNVille. **_


	2. Chapter 2

**TWO**

Bobby heard the phone and tutted, setting down the parts of the small gun carefully and taking his magnifying lens from the clip on the peak of his cap. He put everything down and crossed the room, picking up the phone.

"Yeah?" he grumped.

"Bobby! Am I glad to hear your voice," came a very worried, impatient growl.

"Dean?" he hazarded. "You sound like crap. What is it? Where are you?"

"I'm fine," came the automatic dismissal, "we're both fine. But we need your help with something."

"O-k," he said slowly, backing away and sitting on the sofa slowly. "What's happened?"

He heard a thin wail and a cooing, soothing voice somewhere close to Dean's phone, and blinked in surprise.

"Ah - hang on--" Dean gabbled.

There was the sound of material and a hushed argument, then movement. Finally the phone was brought to bear again.

"Sorry. We found a - a baby," Dean admitted.

"A baby what?" Bobby asked warily.

"A _baby_ baby! A human baby!" Dean cried, his patience having already found the end of the road marked '_2000ft drop_'. "But we're not sure what to do with it, cos--"

"Well fire and brimstone, Dean, you take it to a hospital and--"

"Bobby, I'm not sure we can do that yet," Dean interrupted, even as the thin wail and squeaking cry started up in the background again.

"Why not?"

"Look - hang on," Dean groused. The phone moved away from him again. "_Can you stop that noise?_" he hissed, apparently to someone other than the older hunter.

"I'm trying, but she just doesn't want to--" Sam called.

Bobby sat and huffed, waiting for the boys on the other end of the line to call at each other and discuss something at length. At last the conversation, and the wailing, appeared to be over.

"Bobby?"

"Dean?"

"It's Sam," he said confidently. "Dean's got his hands full."

Bobby had a sudden flash of an image: Dean looking like the most uncomfortable man in the all the world, holding onto a squirming infant just about to explode into bawling for its life.

"I'll bet," he quipped, oddly pleased at the idea of the older Winchester knocked off his stride by a baby.

"It's weird, she stops screaming when he holds her," Sam admitted. "Look, I know this is a lot to ask, but could you get over here?" he asked nervously.

"You seriously want me to up sticks and just mosey on over at your say-so?" Bobby tutted. "This better be some serious problem you got, son."

"It could be. Can you get to the Kansas Turnpike? I can meet you there and get you back here. We're pretty well hidden."

"You're in Kansas?" Bobby prompted hastily. "Where?" he added fearfully.

"Just outside Topeka."

"What the Sam Hill got you two in Topeka, of all places?" Bobby gasped.

"A very long story," Sam sighed.

Bobby blew out a whistle through his teeth slowly, thinking. "Then I'll wait to hear it."

"And we need to know everything _you_ know about werewolves," Sam said quickly.

"Werewo--?" Bobby began. Then he just closed his eyes and thought for a second. "Ok. I'll pack up some stuff. Going to be a few hours though," he warned, rubbing his eyes and looking round the room.

"No problem - there's something I've got to do first," he said.

"Right. I'll call when I'm there," Bobby nodded. He sat back, cut the line, and let the phone drop into his lap with a sigh. "A baby…? Those two…? Holy crap."

Sam closed Dean's phone and put it on the table.

"Sam, you are _not_ leaving me here again with this - this - _thing_!" Dean growled angrily, holding the shifting infant under the arms, careful not to let it touch him.

"Look, no-one can find out she's here until we've worked this out," Sam shot back. "All she does is scream at me - you can keep her quiet."

"Like hell! I am not staying here with Little Miss Squeal-a-lot while you laugh it up with Bobby!" he hissed, eyeing the baby to make sure he wasn't upsetting her. "And you are not driving ma car without me!"

Sam huffed and folded his arms. "Fine. Get her stuff. We'll all go."

"Did you fall on your head last night?" Dean protested. "It is _not_ putting one embroidered white bootie in the Impala! I ain't having regurgitated breakfast and God knows what else deposited on ma seats!"

"Fine!" Sam snapped. "I've had it up to here with your whining, Dean! Stay here, keep her quiet, don't let anyone see her, and wait for me to get back!"

"Sam!"

"I'm gone," Sam said shortly, swinging the car keys round his finger as he strode for the bedroom door. Right at that moment a gurgling whine rang out, starting a chorus of wailing.

Sam darted through the door open quickly before Dean could collect a breath. The older Winchester heard boots on the carpet in the front room. Then the front door slammed.

His chin jutted out dangerously. "_Saaaauum_! I am so gonna kick your ass for this!"

.

* * *

.

Bobby brought the car to a stop, pulling out his phone and taking a long look around as the line rang. At last it clicked.

"Sam?"

"Yeah, Bobby. Where are you?"

"I'm just by the turn-off for Topeka. Where are you?"

"I'm about two minutes away. Stay there," he said curtly, and the line was cut.

Bobby closed the phone and sat back, watching the few cars go by at such a late hour at night. He relaxed back against the headrest, drumming his fingers on the wheel in front of him, still trying to get his head around babies and werewolves.

Presently there was a knock on the window next to him. He rolled it down, looking up to see Sam standing there, a very uncomfortable look on his face.

"Well, son?"

"Before we go anywhere, you have to know a few things," he muttered. Bobby huffed, opening the door and getting out slowly. He shut the door, leaning back on it and folding his arms.

"Well?"

Sam stuffed his hands in his pockets, looking at his feet.

"You made out like we ain't got all night, Sam," Bobby breathed, but something about the way Sam's fringe covered his eyes made the older hunter pause. "What's wrong?"

"I… We were tracking werewolves," Sam said bravely, looking up at him again. "We found a concentration of them, tracked them to this… this ah, this barn," he shrugged.

"And?"

"And… we killed them. All of them," he managed, looking again at his feet.

"Believe me, Sam, you've done a lot of people a very big favour," he said, as gently as he could.

"Yeah, I know, but… But we heard the police and we had to leave - we just left all the dead bodies there. They looked human again," he muttered.

"They do tend to do that, don't they?" Bobby offered. It was quiet for a long moment. "And then?"

"And then… Then I heard this noise, and I thought I was going nuts. But I followed it, Dean backed me up, and I saw this… this baby," he shrugged.

"Just lying there?"

"Kinda," Sam said apologetically. "She was… she was in this carrier seat thing, all strapped in like she'd just been taken from a car. I couldn't leave her there, so…"

"So you picked her up and ran before the police could get there."

"Yeah." Sam wiped his nose quickly, directing his gaze at his feet. "Yeah, I did."

"And?"

"And… and I think I should have left her there," he managed, looking up at Bobby with such an expression of heartbreak the older man could have hugged him. If he'd been the hugging kind.

"Really?" he asked gruffly. "I don't think that's you talking, Sam," he said wisely.

"No?"

"No. I think that hair-brained brother of yours has been giving you crap over this, and a bit of time of looking after a screaming kid has worn you down." He paused, watching him digest this. "You really think she'd be better off left out there until some cop stumbled onto her? What if they'd missed her?"

"See - that's what _I_ said," Sam said quickly, then bit his lip. Bobby thought for a moment.

"So… did you find out who she belonged to?"

"That's just it, Bobby - I've been checking and no-one reported any lost babies. I was thinking maybe the werewolves had killed off the family and stolen the baby, so there would have been no-one to report a lost child. But… I've just been back and checked at the station - no murders or animal attacks in the last few months. Nothing."

"So… where did she come from?" Bobby asked, confused.

"You got me. All I know is, she needs to get back to her family or at least next of kin. And to do that we need either a doctor or some kind of technician to test some blood and match her to someone. It's the only way to be sure," Sam shrugged. "I've got nothing else to work on."

"Fair enough," Bobby nodded. "So we just go to the hospital she's in and find out--"

"Oh, she's not at a hospital yet," Sam said easily.

"What?" Bobby asked, confused. "But you said--"

"It may not be that simple. We can't be sure that they haven't done something to her, or prepared her for something. That's what we need you for - we have to make sure she's really unharmed before we do anything with her."

"You've still got her?" Bobby dared.

"Dean's looking after her until we get you back there."

"You left a tiny baby girl _with Dean_?" Bobby gasped. "Are you out of your gourd!"

"Bobby, relax! He's fought off and killed more creatures than--"

"It's not Dean I'm worried about!" Bobby interrupted.

"What are you--"

"This is different, Sam! This is a _baby_! A real-life, needy, helpless baby! And you left her with _your brother_? We're talking about a guy who thinks proper food hygiene is an extra ten seconds in the microwave!" Bobby pressed.

"You've got a point," Sam admitted edgily. The two of them eyed each other in the dark.

Then Sam turned and sprinted for the Impala.

.

* * *

.

Sam pulled out his keys and rammed them into the door quickly. He burst into the front room, Bobby hot on his heels. They looked around in horror, seeing the carnage that had been wreaked on the innocent forgotten log cabin.

Dean's boots were on the floor, shirts and t-shirts splayed about the carpet in strange piles. An armchair had lost its cushion, the sofa topped with nappy wrappers. Bobby and Sam exchanged a worried glance before Sam led them through to the bedroom door.

He put his hand on the doorknob and turned it slowly, feeling for his handgun and taking a good hold. He looked at Bobby, who nodded.

He pushed the door open silently, looking in.

The large bed was in complete disarray, the blankets and covers heaped up or on the floor over the side. The dresser had been swept empty, the previous accoutrements on the floor in strange patterns. An empty baby's plastic bottle was lying on the rug.

"Check the other rooms," Bobby said quickly, already moving to Dean's duffle and checking for weapons.

Sam hurried to the front room again, Bobby following with Dean's handgun ready. Sam noticed another door and strode over, wanging it open quickly. What he saw made him stop short. He gaped for a long moment, then collected himself.

"Bobby," he whispered over his shoulder. "It's ok."

Bobby let the Colt in his hand drop and walked over cautiously. He looked round Sam's taller shoulder, prepared for the worst.

What he saw was the open area of what appeared to be a dining room, the wooden table and chairs old and scuffed but comfortable. Moonlight was pouring in through the large windows at the top of the wall, making it all seem very serene and relaxing.

But what had stopped them both in their tracks was Dean. He was fast asleep in the chair side-on to the doorway in which they were standing. His head was hanging back loosely over the headrest, mouth slightly open, snoring quietly. His left arm was dangling toward the floor, where a half-empty bottle of milk had made itself a new home.

The incredibly comfortable-looking baby girl was also fast asleep, flat out on his chest. Her head was nestled agreeably on his collarbone, her tiny hands grabbing at his t-shirt and the cord on which his amulet was hanging. She snored and burbled, blowing tiny bubbles and dribbling admirably on his t-shirt.

Dean's right arm was round her back securely, propped in place by the edge of the table. Her lemon-yellow jumpsuit blended quite well with the pillow case that was wrapped round her, in a way that only a man would consider a suitable blanket replacement.

Sam closed his mouth and looked at Bobby.

"See? Told you he'd be fine," he whispered, a large grin on his face.

"That's as maybe," Bobby whispered back gruffly, motioning him back from the doorway. Sam closed the door quietly and they walked back to the sofa. "But we still gotta find out how that tiny thing came to be totally unharmed by a bunch of werewolves." He picked up some nappy packages, moving them out of the way to sit down.

"Maybe it was just cos she was in the back and they didn't see her - maybe she--"

"And maybe I'm a rocket scientist," Bobby interrupted. "I'm sorry Sam, but you have to consider the facts, here. She was in amongst that bunch of creatures by herself. In all that time, do you really think she didn't cry, or scream, or just plain move about?"

"Well no, but… But maybe…" He paused, not really knowing what to say. He looked behind him, pulling up a wooden chair and sitting gratefully.

Bobby sighed, pulling off his cap and rubbing a hand over his head slowly. He looked around, taking in the mess around them. On second viewing, it did not appear as bad as they had first feared.

"Maybe one of them took her from a car, left her there to do something, and when he got back we stumbled in and killed him," Sam shrugged.

Bobby looked at him. "Seriously?" he challenged. Sam looked away and Bobby hid a smile. "Look, Sam, I ain't blind, ok? She's a real cute little thing, and she's got you round her finger, I can see that." Sam looked up quickly. "Don't try and deny it - she'd have anyone round her finger - I'm sure she's… adorable," he managed, the word rolling around his mouth with a little distaste, even as he started to look a few shades of embarrassed.

"Anyone but Dean," Sam ventured, trying to make them both feel less uncomfortable.

"Meaning? He seems to be getting on with--"

"You should see him, Bobby," Sam said suddenly, and the older Singer did not like the look of slight hurt in the boy's eyes. "He calls her an 'it', he holds her like she's Hellspawn, and complains when she makes any noise. I just don't see how he doesn't melt when he looks at her," he admitted, looking down at the floor quickly.

Bobby sighed. "Cos he's got more experience with babies than either of us," he shrugged.

"What?" Sam asked, surprised.

"Well he pretty much changed and wiped _your_ ass for a while," he pointed out. "Or did you really think your dad knew the right way up a diaper went?"

Sam simply stared at him for a long moment. Bobby looked around the room slowly, trying to think of some way to extricate himself from the gap in the ground into which he'd stumbled. But when he looked back at Sam, he knew he had no choice but to explain a few things.

"Alright, alright…" he breathed, thinking. "I remember about… ooh, a year or more after your mother… Anyway, you would have been… well, pretty much two years old, I guess. I came by as usual with more reports of demon sightings." He sat back slightly, sighing and wiping at his jaw in thought. "Dean must have been, what, a shade over six? Going on seventeen, in all honesty. And I'm there talking with John about crop blights, when you start yelling and squealing about something making you mad. John just kind of stared at you… He was… Well, sometimes it was hard."

"Having us two around?" Sam asked, and it came out much more bitter than he intended.

Bobby looked at him in surprise. "Sam… I'm only going to tell you this once, ok? Your dad had a real bad time after your mom died. Now I think you might be able to imagine how he must have felt about her going out like that, what with your Jess and all." He paused, looking at his hands. "But… He had you two to deal with. I swear, some days he looked at little Dean and all he saw was Mary smiling back at him. And when he looked at you…"

"What?" Sam dared, almost fearing Bobby's words.

"Well sometimes he thought you were the only good thing in the universe. Then you'd start screamin' and cryin'," he accused, shifting himself back onto familiar emotional territory.

Sam felt a little relief. "So Dad wasn't a whiz with a diaper?"

Bobby snorted. "Tell the truth, it was easier for him to strip and detail a shotgun."

Sam smiled, looking at his clasped hands slowly.

"So I'm telling John about the pattern of crop blights, and you started frettin', and the next thing I know the door opens and Dean stomps in. He orders John around, gets him to hand over a bag of stuff and you, and then disappears into the bathroom. Ten minutes later and you're all clean and fresh, and Dean's holding you up by the hands, trying to help you stay upright so can you walk back to your dad. He's telling John off for not paying attention, moaning that 'poor Sammy' ain't even eaten yet."

"What?" Sam managed, his voice weak.

"Damnedest thing I ever saw," Bobby smiled. "He was so small himself, just this little six-year-old, but… well, he's always been funny 'bout people not looking after you how he wanted," he added, with a large payload of discomfort.

He looked at the floor, staring downwards to somehow dodge the startled and unsettled look on Sam's face. The two men were silent for a long moment, then Bobby looked up and let his gaze wander over Sam's worried frown, thinking perhaps he needed a little more time to let it sink in.

"Maybe he just doesn't want to have to do it all over again. If he even remembers," he shrugged eventually.

"Yeah," Sam managed, looking at his hands in his lap.

"You really didn't know any of this?" Bobby asked.

"Ah… no. It never really… I mean you don't suddenly ask your brother how many times he had to do it cos your dad couldn't face changing your diaper," he said glumly.

"Who's changing diapers?" Dean asked groggily from the open doorway.

Sam turned right round in his chair to see. The sleeping baby was still securely against his t-shirt, Dean's other hand rubbing at an eye with his palm as if it needed screwing back in.

"Please say you're gonna do the next one, or I'm never going to eat again," he mumbled, obviously half asleep still.

"Yeah, ah… Think it's my turn," Sam said, looking at Bobby as he got up. He crossed to Dean, putting his hands out, but Dean stepped back one, his left hand up to stop him.

"Woah woah woah - what are you, _nuts_?" he said quickly, backing away. Sam let his hands drop.

"What?"

"Whut? Whut? It's _asleep,_" Dean hissed. "As soon as it moves, it'll start bawling again."

"So what are you gonna do, carry her round everywhere in case she needs protecting?" Bobby asked with a knowing smile.

Dean realised someone else was in the room and looked around Sam. He found Bobby watching him, and suddenly he seemed a lot less sure of himself.

"Oh, ah… hey Bobby," he managed. Sam let his worried eyes travel over his brother's slightly red face as he looked away from him. Dean cleared his throat quietly. "You took your time getting here - you want to take this away now?" he asked, looking up again, his gruff demeanour apparently salvaged.

"Sam says he can't find anyone to give her back to," Bobby smiled, and for some reason, Sam got the impression the older man was enjoying Dean's sudden embarrassment.

"That's fine; we don't need to," Dean said.

"Why's that?" Sam asked warily.

"Cos there's a hospital not far from here. I'll just take it in there and dump it on the receptionist," he said firmly.

"Dean! You can't just--"

"Whut, Sammy? The last thing we're capable of looking after is some noisy, smelly kid - especially right now. We got a possible trail leading to us since we killed a bunch of human-looking creatures last night - or did you forget about the cops probably looking for us? We leave this thing to someone who knows how to look after it," he snapped.

Sam nodded slowly, and Bobby got up, walking over to put a hand on his shoulder.

"He's right," he said quietly, and Sam nodded again.

"I know," he said easily. "I know. I just worry about what will happen to her," he added quietly.

"Well, it's late, and I've been driving most of the night. We can check for werewolf rituals and then do hospitals tomorrow. I'm taking your sorry excuse for a sofa, and you two are getting some sleep while she's amenable," Bobby nodded.

"Yes Bobby," Sam and Dean said together. The older man smiled and turned for the sofa, starting to put it all back in order.

Dean looked down at the sleeping infant and huffed. "Another t-shirt ruined," he grumped. Bobby smiled to himself as Dean turned and walked out, heading for the bedroom.

Sam pulled off his jacket and followed glumly. He didn't walk into the larger bedroom, but carried on walking past, heading for the next door.

"Hey! Where do you think you're going?" Dean called.

Sam stopped dead, turned on his heel, and walked back. He poked his head round the doorframe.

"Bed," he said clearly. "I think you're old enough to sleep in your own room now," he added maliciously.

But Dean was setting the baby down as gently as possible in the carrier chair.

"You're taking it tonight, I done my bit while you were out library-ing and getting Bobby," he said decisively. He made sure the baby was secure and then picked up the carrier seat, turning to look at him.

Sam's eyes rolled like it was their last chance in this life, really making the effort to completely enjoy the 360. His shoulders sagged abruptly as he huffed with the apparent lung capacity of a brown bear.

"Whut? Thought you loved the idea of spending time with the noisy bundle of pain-in-the-ass," Dean said sweetly, holding the carrier seat out to him.

"Maybe I just don't trust _you_ to look after her properly," he shot back, trying to salvage some face.

"Yeah, cos I done a real bad job so far," Dean grumped. He paused to look down at his t-shirt. "And let's not forget, _I'm_ the one sacrificing clothes every two minutes cos _you're_ not even here," he added pointedly.

Sam shook his head as Dean turned away and pulled off his stained, gooey t-shirt. Sam looked down at the baby in his hands as Dean went into the bathroom. Sam heard taps and toilets and then it all went quiet.

"I'm apologising for my brother," he whispered to the baby, but then his eyes turned curious. "Where did you come from?"

Dean opened the bathroom door again and stumbled across the carpet wearily, heading for the big bed.

"Get in your own room, Sammy. And take that thing with you," he yawned.

Sam turned to look at him, about to remonstrate him for his attitude. But he paused, then tilted his head in curiosity as his brother crossed the room in front of him.

"Dean," he said pointedly, and the strange tone made his brother stop short.

"Whut?"

"What's that?" he asked, nodding to his front.

Dean looked down and found a bright red scratch, about four inches long, across his skin just where his amulet was bouncing. He seemed surprised.

"Where'd that come from?" he asked himself. He looked up at Sam, then shrugged. "It's been kicking me and wailing, it must have done some damage," he said dismissively. "Sleep, Sam."

"Yeah," Sam mumbled. He turned and took a step out of the door. "Sleep," he echoed, thinking.

"Don't even think of waking me if it screams again," Dean called after him.

"Yeah," Sam muttered, closing the door behind him and heading for the next door down the hallway. He pushed the door open, walking in and putting the carrier seat on the dresser next to the bed. As he set it down he looked at the giggling baby.

"She must have done some… done some _damage_."

He pursed his lips.

And his eyebrows and frown, had anyone seen them, would have alerted the entire county to his sudden and electrifying worry.

* * *

**_Next chapter will go up at weekend, I think..._**


	3. Chapter 3

**THREE**

Bobby studied the cloth of tools, sniffing and thinking carefully. He picked out a long-handled magnifying glass, hefting it in his hand before looking at the tiny baby.

She was dozing on her back, oblivious to the two men watching her from above. Bobby looked at Sam, then over at the bed across the room.

"You pull the short straw this morning?" he asked the younger Winchester. Sam dragged his gaze away from the quiet infant, looking at Bobby. He turned and looked at the bed, and the huge mound making itself very comfortable within, and huffed.

"He refuses to wake up," Sam muttered. "All he's done is moan about lack of sleep for the last two days."

"Well you _were_ huntin' all night when you found her," Bobby shrugged.

"He's just avoiding her," Sam pointed out.

"Well this is the last check, and then we can pass her onto someone who can take proper care of her, and then you two can both sleep as long as you want," he said decisively. Sam looked at him, then down at the baby slowly.

"Yeah," he managed.

Bobby ignored the slightly wistful tone to his voice and sniffed to himself. "Pick her up then. I need to check her neck and her shoulders."

Sam put his hands out and lifted the child up for Bobby to see. He couldn't help smiling as he watched the little girl yawn and open and close her hands slowly, sticking her tongue out sleepily.

Bobby held her head still gently, bringing his magnifying glass to bear. He examined all the skin in minute detail, being careful to check along the collarbone too. At last he pulled the glass away and let go.

"Seems fine to me," he shrugged.

There was a rustling and huffing sound and Sam held her closer to him as he looked round at the bed. There was an odd groan that reminded Bobby of a reluctant cat yawn before Dean's head popped out from underneath the blanket.

Hair plastered to his head by duvet pressure, unable to open his eyes fully due to the light in the room, he was content to edge up the bed slightly on his front. He pushed his arms under the pillow and set his head back down again.

"Dean," Sam called irritably. He looked down at the baby and then put her back down on the table with care. He looked back over at his slumbering brother. "Dean. If you want to get shot of her, you'll have to wake up," he called.

Dean didn't move.

Bobby shook his head and began to put his tools away. Sam folded his arms.

"If you don't get up, there'll be no time for breakfast," he called. Again, no response. Sam decided to double his efforts. "Dean. If you don't get up now, I'm getting in the shower first - and I'm using _all_ of the hot water," he stressed maliciously. "Just cos you got the room with the only _en-suite_ shower doesn't mean you're automatically entitled to hot water."

There was a ripple in the blankets and Dean twisted slowly, edging one foot over the side and letting it drop to the floor. Sam realised he was trying after all, and let his arms drop from their authoritarian clench. His brother pushed himself up from the bed with the enthusiasm of shop staff on sale day, sniffing and managing to sit upright. He dropped his other foot over the side, scrubbing his hands through his hair, mouth hanging wide open with an apparently unstoppable double-yawn.

"Shower," Sam commanded.

Dean didn't even make an attempt to acknowledge anyone else in the room. He simply pushed himself up to stand, one hand to his trousers to pull them straight, the other to check his amulet was there. His eyes still mostly squeezed closed in discomfort, he got up and stumbled toward the bathroom. He managed to get inside and close the door, and Sam turned to find Bobby looking at the door with amusement.

"He always wake up like that?" he asked.

"More and more, recently," Sam allowed. "I swear some days he wishes the end of his contract was already here just so he could sleep."

Bobby smiled at the remark, but when he looked again at Sam he found his face bitter and anguished. He put a hand up and clapped it to his shoulder.

"We'll find something," Bobby said reassuringly. "There ain't no demon getting the better of us."

Sam offered him a small smile and Bobby patted his shoulder once, turning back to his kit. The tiny girl started to fret and fidget, and both men looked down at her.

"Diaper duty again," Sam sighed, turning away to find the growing bag of items needed.

Bobby put his own tools away, looking for his coat. "I'll get breakfast," he offered.

"That'd be great, Bobby, thanks," Sam said warmly, and Bobby was a little surprised at his tone. He looked over and watched the way Sam fussed over the tiny baby, reassuring her and chatting to her as he went about finding fresh nappies and associated necessities. The older hunter paused and watched, impressed but hardly surprised at Sam's ability to get the infant to buy into his good-will act so quickly.

"I won't be long," Bobby said, then chucked a thumb at the bathroom door. "Make sure he doesn't leave her rolling around by herself while you shower," he added darkly.

"Absolutely," he nodded. Bobby smiled and let himself out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Sam looked back down at the baby, and with much holding of breath and tickling and wiping, managed to get her into a fresh nappy and a happy smile.

He was just bundling up miscellaneous unwanted items as the bathroom door opened and Dean emerged, clean t-shirt and jeans in place and used towels in his hand. He spared Sam a glance as he walked across the room.

"_Mor_ning," Sam said pointedly.

"Whut now?" Dean pressed gruffly, and Sam turned to watch him spread the towels out over the back of a chair.

"We were supposed to be up early to check her over," he accused.

"Sam, don't start," he snapped. "The cheerful ball of scream was going all night, I'm not friggin' Superman."

"Yeah, she was screaming cos she needed her diaper changing - and cos you refused to get out of bed, _I_ had to do it!"

"Two words, Sam: physically incapable," Dean shot back. "Maybe if I'd had more sleep I would have been _able_ to get my ass out of bed!"

"Oh right, that's fine, no-one else is tired here," Sam snapped with enough sarcasm to sink a battleship. "She started up this morning too - she needed changing."

"And you've done it, good boy," Dean said, smiling at him maliciously. "Anything else, Mom? Cos I ain't feeding it too. Get your shower." He turned away from him deliberately, grabbing his duffle and upending it to try and find socks.

"Dean!" Sam protested. His older brother simply opened his hands and let everything drop to the bed with exaggerated clarity, turning and looking at Sam with eyes like Kryptonite.

"Whut?" he demanded, a clear warning in his tone.

Sam huffed, unable to think of the right words, eyeing his brother's face and realising it was going to come to blows sooner or later. He forced his gaze to look around the room slowly, trying to calm himself, but the angry, stubborn expression on Dean's face was still emblazoned on his mind's eye.

"You know what?" Sam managed, changing it from an accusation to a mumble, "You're an ass." He snatched up a clean towel and marched into the bathroom.

"We all have our crosses to bear," Dean shot back as the door shut rather soundly.

He turned back to the bed and picked up the socks, looking at them for a moment before he let his jaw stick out in protest. He flung the socks on the bed, putting his hands on his hips and then running one through his hair angrily.

He heard a wee giggle from behind him and gritted his teeth, determined not to turn around. He picked up the socks again, turning away to bounce down on the bed and get them on his rapidly cooling feet.

Again there was a cheerful gurgling, chirping sound as he found his boots and pulled them on. He steadfastly refused to look anywhere but his hands and feet as he tied the laces with a snap.

He got up, rolling up and packing everything back into his duffle. There was a happy shriek suddenly, a sharp lancing of the air with such amusement it made him jump.

"Why are _you_ so happy?" he growled, stomping over and glaring down at the baby, strapped comfortably back into the carrier chair. She waved arms and legs, giggling and drooling at him. "You're going to a hospital," he breathed, watching the tiny infant jig about and make goo bubbles. "I just gotta get rid of y-- _we, we_ have to get rid of you," he amended quickly.

The baby shifted and giggled, a melodious rattle of fun and amusement.

He stared, still unable to come to terms with how small she actually was, and slowly his anger slipped away. He put a hand out, aiming for her tiny digits, but then looked at his hand and froze. He drew it back guiltily, sliding his hands deep into his pockets. She bounced her feet and bubbled, and he stared, entranced.

The door to the bathroom opened abruptly and Dean started. He let his face lapse back into the annoyed expression he seemed to have been wearing since Sam had found the little bundle of strife, and turned to see the one to blame emerge dressed and ready for the day.

"You ok, man?" Sam said slowly, noticing a sudden change in atmosphere. He paused in his stride, watching him. Then he looked from him to the baby and back again.

"Super," Dean grumped. He heard the sound of a car pulling up outside. _Oh Bobby, you are the man._ He ignored his younger brother, going to his bed and picking up his jacket and keys. "Come on Sam, hurry up," he added.

"Wait - what about h--"

"You bring it," Dean interrupted, not looking at him. "I been kicked, scratched and puked on enough."

"Fine," Sam ground out, heading for the carrier.

.

* * *

.

Dean pushed into the door, holding it open as he looked around the hospital reception. Sam shuffled in behind him slowly, the tiny bundle securely in his arms. Dean waited for him to pass him, then caught him up as he stopped at the reception desk.

They looked down to find a cheerful-looking brunette talking on the phone, cradling it on her shoulder to type at the keyboard hidden from the boys' eyes behind the ledge.

She looked up, holding the phone to stop it from falling.

"Hi. Please wait, I'll be - Dean!" she interrupted herself.

Sam let his eyes flick to the ceiling.

"Mar! You still here?" Dean grinned, leaning on the desk surround.

"Uh - well yeah - I - hang on," she winked, going back to the phone. She gabbled into it as Dean felt a nudge at his arm. He looked at Sam and caught his searing, accusing look smack in the face. He turned his hands out innocently.

The girl put the phone down and looked up. "Well then - what can I do for _you_ today?" she grinned, with a great deal of charm.

Dean turned back to the counter. "Oh it's not me," he said suavely. "I'm good."

"I can see that."

"Yeah - well - anyway, we, ah… We found ah…"

"We found a baby," Sam interrupted. The girl's face pulled into one of surprise, her eyes gliding past Dean's shoulder to look at Sam.

"Well hello there," she said, bemused. "Ooooh…" She nodded, wagging a finger at Sam. "Are you the brother he was after?"

"Oh. Ah… yeah," Sam managed, surprised.

"You must be… Sam, right? I'm Martia," she smiled. Then she looked at Dean. "You found him. Wow - that was a long time ago, eh?" she smiled.

"A very long time ago," he nodded gingerly. "So anyway, we found this thing and we have no idea what to do with it. We're here to make a donation," he smiled.

"That's what you said last time," she quipped. Sam closed his eyes, shaking his head slightly, but Dean hooted with laughter.

"Hopefully this one will be less painful," he laughed, and Martia grinned.

"We can hope. So come on, what happened?"

"Honest to God - we were driving down the road--"

"You still got your Impala?"

"Oh yeah. Anyway, we were driving down the road and Sammy here had to make a pit-stop," he said earnestly. "So he opens the door and there it is - lying in a mass of blankets. Now you know me, I would have totally missed it, but Sam's got ears like a bat. He finds this little person and - it was a lucky thing, cos it was starting to rain and everything - and just scooped it up like some guardian angel. So we tried to look after it last night, thinking we'd work out what to do with it this morning. And here we are," he nodded.

She blinked at him.

"You just found it?" she asked sceptically.

"That's right," Sam said innocently, taking a step forward. He shifted the bundle against his jacket. "She was just lying there in amongst some dirty blankets. I couldn't leave her there," he added, his Oscar-winning eyebrows communicating every ounce of sincerity in his frame.

She nodded immediately. "Yeah, I can imagine," she allowed. "Well then, we'll have her-- It's a her?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded.

"Then we'll have her taken in," she said sadly, coming round the counter and looking at Sam's arms. He let them down and she leaned over, opening the blanket, peering in to find a happy, bubbly face. "I don't know. How people can just dump these little things is beyond me. She's so cute," she cooed.

Dean's eyes ranged freely around the ceiling before Sam cleared his throat.

"_Isn't_ she?" he smiled firmly. She grinned and put her hands up, but Sam hesitated. Dean let his jaw stick out a tiny way, but Sam ignored him. Martia let her hands drop.

"You want to bring her down for me?" she said gently. "She'll have to go for an exam before we put her with the others."

"The others?" Dean prompted in surprise.

"The other orphans and homeless," she said sadly, turning and walking off. The two boys watched her go, then Dean turned and slapped at Sam's shoulder.

"What?" he asked, surprised.

"You big girl. You could have just left it with Mar," he hissed.

"Shut up," Sam mumbled defensively, walking down the corridor after the girl.

.

* * *

.

Forms were filled in, names were gratefully obscured, and at last Sam found himself letting go of the tiny bundle to let her roll around on a soft, clean blanket. He stood back one, looking round the room full of soft baby cots and kind-looking nurses.

Dean stood back one, visibly relieved.

"Ok, job done, let's get out of here," he said abruptly, nudging at Sam's arm.

Sam turned and looked down at him for a long moment, but didn't appear to be able to get any words out. Dean just watched him, waiting. When nothing seemed forthcoming he threw his hands up in despair and turned, walking out of the ward. Martia put her hand to Sam's elbow and squeezed gently, smiling at him and then gesturing to the cot.

"Say goodbye," she said warmly, then patted at his arm and walked out too.

Sam looked down at the baby, giggling and grasping at her feet in complete absorption. He let his hands steal into the back pockets of his jeans, waiting until the door had swung closed behind Martia and his brother.

He looked down over the cot, watching her for a long few silent minutes. Thoughts and ideas whirled round his head, fighting for attention. He sifted through each one slowly, decided they were not as important as the little thing in front of him, and pushed them all away.

"Hey, ah… We're going now. You'll be alright here - these people will find somewhere for you," he whispered. She just giggled and rolled around delightedly. He smiled and put a hand down to her gently, stroking at her face. Her hand came up and she snatched at his finger, taking hold of it tightly. "Leave me a little circulation," he teased, waving his finger to and fro.

She giggled and kicked her feet, but slowly his smile faded. He looked up and around the room, making sure no-one was watching him.

"You know, I can't help thinking…" He paused, sighing, and she bubbled at him. "I was going to marry Jess, you know. We might have ended up with someone like you."

She shrieked in amusement and giggled at thin air, and he sighed, disentangling his finger slowly. He straightened and nodded to himself.

"You'll be safe here. I'm sorry we're dumping you like this, but… Dean's right. We are not the ones to look after you," he sighed. "I'm sorry about Dean - he's just a little… Actually? I don't know what his problem is," he added to himself, confused. Then he looked back down at the baby.

"Someone will come for you - they'll come for you, take you home, make you theirs, and you're going to have such a wonderful life," he whispered. "You're going to see so much fun stuff, and do so many amazing things… And I'm just hoping… really, _really_ hoping, that nothing bad's going to come after you." He watched the infant giggle and bubble to herself. "But if something _dares_ come after you, me and my brother will be back. I promise."

He watched her a little longer, then smiled, turning and walking off.


	4. Chapter 4

**FOUR**

Dean leaned his hands on the windowsill, watching his brother through the glass. Martia looked at him and studied his pensive face before nudging his arm.

He turned his head slowly and by the time he was looking at her, a detached smile had replaced his true feelings admirably.

"So what have you been doing with yourself in - what is it? Two, three years?" she asked bravely.

"Everything, anything, too much - not enough," he shrugged, standing away from the sill and letting his hands sink into his pockets. She eyed him with rising disquiet.

"You ok? You got that '_this is the wrong beer_' look," she offered.

"Yeah, I'm super," he smiled, suddenly confident. She was unsure whether to believe his wide smile, but decided to let it pass.

"So you found your brother after all?"

"Yup - and he has been a monster pain in the ass, I don't mind telling you," Dean teased.

"And your dad? When you left you said… you said you needed Sam's help to find your dad, too," she said cheerfully.

"Uh… yeah, we found him," he said lightly, his smile slipping just enough to confirm her suspicions.

"What is it?" she asked quietly.

"Oohh, nothing, forget about it. Look, do we have to do anything else for this baby? Or can we go?"

"Oh no you don't - I know that look, Dean Hetfield. Three months of you passing through town accidentally-on-purpose, your late nights and excuses trained me well in the art of sniffing out subterfuge in men. Come on, what happened?" she teased, poking at his t-shirt lightly.

"We found Dad," he shrugged.

"So is he here too? I'd love to meet _him_," she grinned knowingly. "Where are you boys all going, anyway?"

"You know what, some days I really don't know," he sighed, and her smile faded. He looked at her speculatively. "We found Dad, but he ah… he's not with us any more," he added quietly. "He died."

"Oh no! Oh Dean, I'm sorry," she said, reaching up and putting her arms round his neck, dragging him into a big hug. "I know what he meant to you."

"Yeah," he whispered, suddenly feeling the need to return the hug.

She pulled herself away slowly, letting her hands slide down his front as she did so.

"So now she's safely in the hospital, what will you do?" she asked quietly. "You gonna hang around for a day or two?"

"I can't," he shrugged. "I wish I could," he added with a sly smile, and she smiled back. "But there's something I have to do first."

"There's always something you have to do," she sighed, pulling him back into a hug. "Is there ever going to be a day when you can just stop?"

"Soon," he replied sourly. She squeezed him, then let him go.

"Well when you need another hug like that, come back to me," she said, deliberately not looking up.

"Hugs are for girls," he grinned maliciously, and she looked at him and slapped a hand into his chest.

"You are such a man," she quipped.

"I hope so," he grinned, and she shook her head.

She looked up at him again but he had glanced up at the window. She looked over and realised he was watching Sam. She opened her mouth but the look on his face made her pause. He noticed she was quiet and his eyes slid back to her.

"What is it you want to say that you can't talk to your brother about?" she asked wisely. He flicked his gaze back to the window, noticing Sam waving his hand around in the small baby's grip.

"Lots of things," he admitted bitterly. Then he straightened, looking back at her sharply. "Forget it. It's not going to matter much longer, anyway."

"Why's that?" she asked quickly. He smiled politely and turned away. He began to walk from her but she caught up to him and grabbed hold of his elbow. "Dean! What?"

He turned and looked at her, then put his hand up and slowly released her grip on him. "Nothing, it's ok," he said firmly, keeping hold of her hand and clapping his free one on top of it. "Everything's going to be fine." He patted her hand firmly, but she noticed his smile still did not touch his eyes.

"Right, ok," she said brightly, drawing her hand free and smiling. He nodded and turned, walking off. She folded her arms and huffed to herself, even as she heard Sam approaching the doors beside her. "My ass it is," she muttered angrily.

The doors opened and Sam walked out. "Hey," he offered quietly.

"Hey, Sam," she smiled. "All done?"

"Yeah," he admitted unhappily. "Anything else we need to do?"

"Here? No," she said thoughtfully. Sam just nodded, apparently past caring. "So… what are you two doing now?"

"Now? Ah… we have to meet up with a friend," he nodded. "Then… move on, I guess."

"You're always moving on," she concluded.

"Kinda," Sam replied apologetically.

"Here look," she said suddenly, putting her hand in her pocket and pulling out her phone. "I need your phone number. I want to be able to find you two again."

"Really?" Sam asked, already fishing in his pocket for his Blackberry.

"Absolutely. Sounds like you two have been alone for far too long," she said darkly. She looked up, took the PDA from him, and typed her number in quickly. She pressed 'call' and waited for her phone to light up and ring. "785-555-2804, got it."

"Look," he said uneasily, even as she typed in names and saved information. "We might not be available at times. We have a… strange lifestyle."

"Oh, I know that," she said with a small smile. "I'm just surprised you came back through Topeka. I thought Dean didn't like Kansas - what with all that fire business and everything."

"Oh! Well - he - well--"

"Relax, Sam. I wouldn't really like it either," she said.

Sam's eyebrows fought with each other to gain control, battling it out to show surprise or fear. She looked up again.

"Go. Find him before he shoots something," she joked.

Sam swallowed his shock. "Sounds like a good idea," he managed.

.

* * *

.

Sam pushed his way out of the hospital doors, spying his brother and Bobby talking heatedly in the car park. He made his way over, looking around to count the three other people actually around.

"Then we make damn sure!" Dean was hissing at the older hunter. Bobby pushed at him slightly to gesture that Sam was approaching. The taller Winchester stopped behind them, hands in his jacket pockets.

"Make sure of what?" he asked innocently. Dean swung round and huffed at him.

"There was an animal attack last night," he bit out.

"A guy got raked up," Bobby put in.

"Last night? When? Where?" Sam blurted. "I thought we got them all!"

"So did I," Dean snapped.

"Not far from where we were holed up last night," Bobby continued, ignoring Dean's impatient scowl. "Middle-aged guy got clawed right through his chest. Died alright, but he didn't lose a heart," he added.

"So one of them is still running around," Sam said slowly, thinking. He turned automatically and looked back at the hospital doors.

"If the stiff's here then getting his records is going to be easy," Dean put in. Sam turned back to regard him with a thoughtful glare.

"Yeah, _isn't_ it?" he pressed pointedly.

"What?" Bobby asked.

"Nothing," he admitted, deciding to let the whole idea of Martia knowing what she knew go. "So what do we do, reload and go hunt?" he asked smartly.

"Do we ever," Dean grunted. "We missed one - we were sloppy."

"Yeah… sloppy," Sam muttered.

Bobby turned and headed for his car. Dean pulled the Impala keys from his pocket and peeled left to open her up. Sam watched them both go, then shrugged into his jacket a little more.

He turned and looked back at the hospital with a worried frown. Then he pushed all his dark thoughts and worry from his mind and followed his brother.

.

* * *

.

Six o'clock in the evening and the front room in the cabin was deathly quiet. Bobby was out like a light in the corner of the sofa, his hat over his eyes. Sam looked up at the door to the hallway, knowing that Dean would still be asleep on his adopted bed, his hands behind his head and his boots left in a pile by the side.

Sam looked back at the laptop, re-reading the day's news report that was sitting on top of the translated page on werewolf lore. He pulled out his PDA and scrolled through his address book. He stopped at the name and considered it for a long moment.

He looked back at the laptop, then the phone. He pressed the 'call' button and waited. It rang and rang.

"Hello?" said a busy voice.

"Hey Martia," he said reluctantly.

"Hey Sam," she said brightly. "What can I do for you?"

"I… Two things," he said slowly. "One, would you be able to do us a favour? We need to know what happened to Mr Douglas Chambers - he was brought in this morning after an alleged animal attack."

"Oh. Can I ask why?" she asked, confused.

"Just… part of our work," he mumbled, the thought of Dean spilling the beans to yet another girl he'd met but this time liked for _longer_ than twenty-four hours annoying him somewhat.

"Ah, I see," she said knowingly. "You're handling his case, are you?"

"If it's what we think it is, then yes," he said, trying to remember it wasn't her fault if Dean couldn't keep his mouth shut where a pretty girl was concerned.

"Ok. I'll see what I can dig up - tell Dean he owes me one," she chuckled.

"Will do," he managed. He waited, hearing tapping and muttering from her end of the phone.

"Right… Douglas Chambers…" she mused. "Oh, that's weird," she said brightly.

"What is?"

"Well I'm just reading the opening remarks on the autopsy. It says here the guy was round about six one, hundred and eighty pounds, light brown-cum-blond hair, green eyes," she said, amused. "Almost sounds like Dean."

"It _does_ sound like Dean," he realised. "How was he killed?"

"Ah… Apparently there was a lot of bruising to his face and neck, and then multiple wounds causing… Oh. A huge cavity was being dug into his chest," she said, and judging by her tone she was very much repulsed by the image she was creating in her head. "All organs were still there… Coroner has suggested perhaps the wounds were caused to maim, and he died accidentally."

"Or perhaps whatever it was just wasn't strong enough to finish the job," he said reluctantly.

"Says here the conclusion was he was held down by his chin or throat, causing the bruising. Then whatever it was started making a hole through him. Didn't finish," she added.

"Any other notes?"

"You haven't got the police report yet?" she asked, surprised. "Dean always seemed to get them right after the police did."

"Ah… no," Sam admitted. "I'm having trouble finding a copy." He gritted his teeth, unhappy with the way she appeared to take it so lightly. "So any other notes?"

"Yeah - says here his daughter alerted the cops to the place, she was screaming the place down. A physical exam found no marks or wounds of any kind."

"His daughter?" Sam echoed. "Do you think she could be interviewed?"

"Not unless you're psychic," she teased. "She's not yet six months old."

"So she's a baby too?" Sam asked, his mind racing.

"What are you thinking?" she asked, curious at his tone.

Sam suddenly saw an image of the breakfast room. Dean, snoring slightly in the chair. The tiny girl, asleep on his chest. Her proximity to his heart, the scratch on his chest, the fact that this week the moon was high every night…

"… cos we're not supposed to be accessing them from here," Martia's voice continued.

He realised he had tuned out and shook his head quickly to clear it. "Yeah, right, uh, thanks," he said quickly.

"That's the first thing done - you said there was another?"

"Oh, yeah… Just… how is she doing?" he asked quietly, looking over to make sure Bobby was still asleep.

"She's fine. She had her exam this afternoon, and apart from a few results caused by being looked after by men, she's fine," she teased.

"How do you mean?" Sam asked instantly.

"I was just joking, Sam - physically she's ok, apart from one thing," she said easily.

"Like what?"

"I'm not really supposed to say - but seeing as I've just given out similarly barred info from an autopsy, I don't think it'll do any more harm," she replied quietly. "She has some abnormal mixtures in her blood. But they're fading."

"What abnormal mixtures?" Sam asked, his mouth running dry at the thought.

"Oh, just excess iron," she said easily. "You might have fed her on something a little less zinc-rich too," she teased.

"Right," he said slowly. "Ah… Martia… you might want to keep an eye on her," he said gingerly.

"For what?"

"Well… she might get… _restless_ in the night."

"Restless? She's a baby, Sam, they don't know how to sleep all through the night," she chided. "But I'll be keeping an eye on her."

"Good. --No! Not you," he gasped. "I mean - I mean - there must be an orderly on at night, right? A security guard?"

"Sam, what's got into you?" she asked, as Sam heard a door closing in the hallway, then feet padding on the boards outside the door. Dean opened it and poked his head in, looking around.

"Ah - ah - tell you what," Sam said quickly, "I'll come down and keep you company." He pressed the button and cut the call quickly.

"Whut'd I miss?" Dean asked, clearing his throat as he walked into the room.

"Nothing," Sam said innocently, putting a deliberately slow hand out and pushing the top of the laptop closed, trying not to look hurried. Dean stopped behind him, found the laptop screen out of sight, and shrugged to himself.

"Makes a change," he sniffed, rubbing at his eye. "What's going on?"

"We're about to tool up and go hunt a werewolf," he said, closing the laptop properly and getting up from his wooden chair.

"Aw yeah," Dean nodded. He looked over at Bobby. "Do we drag him along?"

"I think we're going to have to," Sam said. Dean nodded. "Oh, hey… You know last night, that scratch you had?" he asked breezily.

"Which one?" Dean grumped, heading back to the door to the hallway.

"What?" Sam asked sharply. He followed him out and round to the bedroom, finding him bending down to find his boots.

"I got hundreds. Pick one," he said, landing on the bed with a bounce and pulling his left boot on.

"Ok, new ones," Sam said reluctantly. "Like… ones you got since the baby's been around."

"Oh _them_," Dean shrugged, lacing the shoe quickly. "Just a few. What about them?"

"Well… where are they?" he asked innocently.

Dean turned and looked at him for a long second, then picked up his right boot. He shoved it on his foot and laced it. "First one was here," he said, holding his right wrist out to show the long scratch all the way up the inside of his arm. "Looks better now though."

"And the other one?"

"Second one was here," Dean said, pulling the front of his t-shirt down slightly, lifting his chin. Sam walked over and peered at it.

"Very minor," he nodded.

"Didn't even notice it at first. This is all very touching, Sammy, but what are you worried about?"

"Just… where was the other one?" he asked.

"Here," Dean said, tapping the front of his t-shirt. Sam frowned at him. "Ok, _under_ here," he said shortly. Sam raised his eyebrows and Dean just looked at him. "You've already seen it - hell, you noticed it, you pervert," he smiled.

"Whatever," Sam tutted. "Would you say it was deep?"

"Naw, hardly made a mark," he shrugged.

"Dean."

"Alright - yeah, it was kinda deep."

"And… where is it _exactly_?" he asked.

"Why?"

"Where is it?" he demanded.

Dean eyed him in disbelief, then stood and put his hand up, feeling over his t-shirt. He stopped and tapped it.

"There," he said. "Are we done, Columbo?"

"Just one more question," Sam said with a smile, and Dean raised an amused eyebrow. "Would you say that was over your heart?"

"Ah… kinda. If I _had_ one," he said sarcastically, then walked off past him. Sam bit his lip and folded his arms, following him again as he walked back into the front room.

"Then… we might have a problem," he said quietly.

Dean walked up to the sofa, shaking Bobby's arm gently. "Hey, come on man, new instructions," he said warmly, and Bobby opened his eyes.

"What now?" he grumped, looking up at Dean. "Oh, it's you," he tutted. He pushed on the sofa to sit up. "Well?" he asked, realising Sam was watching the room with a worried frown. "What's up with you?" he asked, surprised.

"I think we might have to split up tonight," Sam said gingerly. Dean turned and looked at him, a question on his face. "You two go track this werewolf. I'll go… check it's not who I think it is."

"Who do you think it is?" Dean asked, confused.

"She scratched _you_ up a few times," Sam said apologetically. Bobby gasped, looking from Sam to Dean and back again.

"Whut the hell are you talking about?" Dean asked with angry indignation, catching the other two by surprise. "You think the baby's a _werewolf_?"

"It would make sense," Sam said, his face slightly red and more than a little conflicted. "She was in their place, unharmed. She's got an overload of iron and zinc in her blood right now, she's already attacked you, whether you know it or not, and it sounds like she attacked this other man last night."

"Sam…" Dean paused, unable to find words.

"Look, fellas…" Bobby tried, but he too lost the words he needed. He had provided Dean with enough time to recover his equilibrium though.

"Right - now you listen to me," he said boldly, walking up to Sam and poking a hard finger into his chest. "One, that baby was unharmed cos they were keeping it for something. Two, it's got an overload of iron or zinc or whatever it was cos Mar says we bought the wrong baby powder, and three…" He faltered, but his anger was still in residence.

"Explain the scratches she caused," Sam said defiantly.

"Maybe I did 'em by accident, running around after it! And how is it supposed to have got out of that carry chair and climbed out the window, found some random dude and killed him?" he cried.

"Why would an animal attack a man who looked like you but leave his baby daughter unharmed?" Sam demanded.

"Woah!" Bobby called. "Boys! Just stow it for one second," he cried angrily. "You've both got good questions - but Sam's right. Dean, you and me will track this thing till we find it and make sure the damn thing's dead this time. Sam, you get to the hospital and keep an eye on her. And if she turns, I swear to God you better do what you know you have to," he said harshly.

* * *

**_Have faith - this might seem dark right now, but that's cos you haven't seen the next chapter! Wait for midweek. ;)_**


	5. Chapter 5

**FIVE**

Dean looked at Bobby, then over at Sam. "You wanna change places?" he asked him quietly.

"What? Why?" Sam asked defensively, going to his bed. Dean looked back at Bobby for a second, then his eyebrows twitched slightly. Bobby huffed and picked up his coat.

"I'll get my stuff from the car," he said, annoyed, and slammed his way out of the room.

Dean looked back at his younger brother, already opening his duffle and sorting through for weapons. He wandered over slowly.

"Look, man… If you want to go with Bobby and do the tracking thing, I'll go to the hospital. If anything happens that shouldn't… then I'll take care of it," he shrugged.

Sam neither turned nor paused in his searching. "No, it's fine," he said dismissively.

Dean watched him, sticking his lips out in cold disapproval. It was quiet for a long moment.

"We don't have much luck with werewolves," Dean said stubbornly. "And I know that. I also know it's gonna really twist the knife if you're right about this baby."

"I know. I'm not _stupid_, Dean," he snapped, his back still to him.

Dean sighed a long, painful wheeze behind him. "Sammy," he began, with a resoluteness that his younger brother recognised all too well.

Sam turned angrily to silence him, but the earnest expression on Dean's face stopped him.

"Just for the record? I think you're wrong," Dean continued clearly. His eyes, large with innocence, bored into Sam's in an effort to communicate his sincerity. "But just in case… I'll go to the hospital. You go track the _real_ beast."

Sam pouted and studied his feet. Then he looked back at his brother slowly.

"I don't think I'm wrong about this. But I can't help hoping I am," he said quietly. "It'll be fine. You go with Bobby."

"Goddamn it, Sam--"

"Go with him," Sam interrupted. "You want to do this for me now? Really? What happens when you're gone, Dean? Who's going to do it for me then?" he pressed.

"Don't say that--"

"Just go, Dean. I'll do this." He paused, and the two surviving Winchesters looked at each other for a long moment. Sam put his hand up slowly, clapping it to Dean's shoulder. "Thanks, though."

"Fine," he grumbled, "but I ain't happy about this, man." He cast him one last disapproving look before he turned and walked to his bed, snatching up his jacket and jingling it to make sure the keys were somewhere inside.

"I just can't help thinking it's gotta be her," Sam mumbled, trying to smile in apology.

"Two words, Sam: you're wrong," Dean managed, opening the door to leave.

"Dean," he blurted suddenly. His brother hesitated on the threshold, then looked back at him, his eyebrows crooked expectantly. "Be careful."

"_You_ take a good book. Cos you ain't going to be killing any werewolves tonight," Dean said confidently. Then he turned and was out of the door, letting it close firmly behind him.

.

* * *

.

Bobby flicked on the flashlight, casting it over the hastily written notes in his lap. "Sam sure can put it together," he muttered to himself.

Dean's eyes shifted from the road to the flashlight and back again. "Don't forget I taught him everything he knows," he smirked.

"Yeah. About that," the older man said, putting the torch down and clicking it off. "Look… I ain't blind, Dean. What you did ain't easy on him."

"Bobby, we been through this a hundred--"

"Will you stop your yapping for one moment?" he interrupted, annoyed. Dean sealed his mouth into a thin line, unamused. "I'm not good at this, alright? So just shut the hell up and let me finish."

There was a heavy silence, and Bobby huffed to himself, wiping a hand over his mouth.

"Look, I just wanted to say… if things don't go well, and you end up… Well, you know where you could end up," he said quickly. "I'm just saying that… I'll look after him. Stop him from going over, y'know?"

"Going over to where?" Dean snapped suddenly in outrage, eyeing him in a way that made Bobby's hair stand on end.

"I meant flipping out!" he protested. "If we can't save you, Dean, I want you to know Sam's not going to lose it. I'll make him carry on. I did it for John, and I'll do it for him."

"Oh," Dean said abruptly with an obvious lean towards sounding very awkward. He breathed out slowly as he stared hard at the road in front of him.

Silence reigned again, until at last Bobby's staring made Dean cast him a suspicious glance.

"Whut?"

Bobby simply stared at him.

"Bobby, whut? You gonna ask me what I thought you meant?" he dared.

"Don't think I need to, do I?" he said quietly.

They looked at each other for a long moment. Then Dean looked back at the road with immense concentration. Bobby looked down and flicked on the flashlight again.

"Mr Chambers lived on the next street," he muttered. "We should pull over and start looking for tracks."

"Yeah. Tracks," Dean mumbled to himself, deliberately avoiding Bobby's gaze as he slowed the Impala. He checked traffic and mirrors before turning across the road and down the side alley.

.

* * *

.

Sam walked into the hospital slowly, going straight to the desk and leaning an elbow on it in an attempt to feel a hundred times more casual than he felt.

"Can I help you?" the nurse on duty asked.

"Oh, hey Sam," said a voice and both of them looked over to see Martia coming out of a side door marked '_Staff Only_'. "What was that strange phone call all about?"

"Oh, nothing," he said lightly. "Just wondered if I could visit her."

"Sure. I'm just coming off duty - you want to come with me to the ward?"

"Absolutely," he said agreeably, nodding to the nurse before walking off after Martia.

They followed the corridor and then turned to the right, coming to the ward door. Martia put her hand out and pushed it open slowly.

"So tell me," she said slyly, holding the door open for Sam as he ducked through, "how do you and Dean really get along?"

"Why?" he asked, searching out the cot for their orphan.

"Cos the last time I saw him he was much more relaxed. He looks edgy now," she said uneasily. "I haven't seen him in three years, but… he calls sometimes, or sends a mystery SMS. He still can't spell," she grinned. "He's never mentioned anything important that might have happened - I didn't even know you'd found your dad till he just told me. Not exactly a gossiper, is he?" she teased.

Sam blinked, taken aback by the fact that his older brother appeared to have kept in touch with anyone at all.

"He can be… secretive," Sam allowed. "_Some_times."

"Oh yeah - I know that. He probably never told you how he knew me, I'm bettin'."

"How _did_ you meet him, anyway?" he asked quietly.

She smiled slightly, thinking. Then she took a deep breath.

"He came in to A&E one night. He was ok, got discharged in thirty minutes, but… well, I processed him at the desk, and he made me laugh. Even though he was standing there in pain, he just… he just made my day more fun," she breathed, as if to herself.

"I can imagine," Sam smiled, rolling his eyes. She glanced at him, then cleared her throat.

"He was always passing through on a job, y'know? Always treading the same route through here on his way to somewhere big - the next big job, making the next killing. We ended up seeing a helluva lot of each other, here and there. Then one day he comes through and says he has the week off. I was kinda happy about that," she winked at Sam. Then her face fell slightly. "It was fine until… Well, one day he just packs his Impala and says he has to go. A family emergency, he says. Which is weird, cos normally you ask him about family and you get one-word answers. This time - _poof_ - he decides cos he hasn't got through to his dad's phone in a few days he's gonna have to go. Says he has to find his little brother - the one I've been hearing all about since day one."

"What?" Sam asked, lost.

"Oh yeah, he talked about you all the time," she grinned.

"Really?" he managed, surprised. He turned to watch her close the door and walk over to a cot all by itself, nearer the far wall. He followed.

"Uh-huh. Made you out to be the smartest thing since a fresh coat of paint," she teased. "Said there wasn't anything you couldn't figure out."

"He said that?" he asked, starting to feel a little queasy.

"Yeah. He also said you were the geekiest geek who ever attempted to go to parties," she laughed.

"Sounds about right," Sam sighed, then let himself smile. "He's not wrong, though."

"What, the being smart bit or the geek bit?"

"The geek bit, definitely," he smiled, stopping next to her. They looked down over the cot, watching the baby snore and blow goo bubbles to herself.

"There, see? She's fine," she said quietly.

Sam nodded, then looked at his watch. "For now," he acceded. "For now."

.

* * *

.

Dean jimmied the window open quickly, Bobby standing behind and keeping watch. Dean peeled back police tape and cables of some kind, pulling his Maglite out of his pocket and snapping it on. He shined it around the room before grasping the end of the torch in his teeth and hauling himself through the window.

Bobby waited, hearing him get to his feet and sniff. The beam of light moved round the room more steadily as Dean crunched his way over an apparently gravelly floor.

"Lights?" Bobby called hoarsely, trying to keep his voice down.

"Is that a good idea?" Dean responded. Bobby thought about it, then stepped closer to the window and looked in. "You coming in?" Dean asked him.

"Do I look like a friggin' alley cat to you?" he groused, and Dean smiled to himself, shining the light around the room.

"Bingo," he called, walking out of sight. Bobby leaned against the wall to try to see, but the angle was too steep. Instead he listened and waited. "Dude was definitely dug into over here - there's blood everywhere," he called.

"Anything we can track?"

"Plenty," Dean confirmed, and Bobby heard him approaching again. Dean appeared round the corner of the window, looking at his feet.

"Well?" Bobby pressed.

"Looks like we got one big-ass werewolf with very poor table manners," he said, crouching down out of sight. Bobby stuck his head in the window and looked down. "Just the one. Came in through here, ignored the baby cot in the corner, held the guy down and gouged him out."

"Any bite marks?"

"Apparently not - got the jist of the report from Mar. No bites or bones broken, just held him down by the face or throat and started tunnelling."

"Why would a werewolf do that? If it didn't take his heart either?" Bobby mused.

"Who knows, man." He straightened again, rubbing his fingers together. "So now we know how many of them escaped our midnight raid a few nights back. You reckon it's gone back to that barn?"

"I wouldn't," Bobby pointed out, making Dean nod.

"Right. So this dirt in the bloody footprints ain't from there," he said thoughtfully. He looked at Bobby, then handed him the Maglite. Bobby stood back and Dean heaved himself through the window again, looking around.

"Direction?" he prompted. Dean wiped his hands together before taking the flashlight from him again. He looked around, thinking. Then he pointed to the trees at the forest edge.

"This way," he muttered, eyeing the ground as he started walking.

Bobby followed. "You think Sam's alright over there at the hospital?" he asked, slight worry on his face.

"Yup."

"And he's ok with Martia - is that her name?"

"Yup and yup."

Bobby thought to himself. "How did you meet her?"

"Put my back out, ended up at the hospital," he admitted ruefully, smiling at the memory.

"You put your back out?" Bobby gasped, a malicious smile on his face. "Doing what - or is that a dumb question?"

Dean just turned and looked back at him, the torch ekeing out a rather devilish grin on the younger man's face. Bobby tutted and shook his head, gesturing him to walk on.

"When are you gonna learn that girls ain't everything?"

"Two words, Bobby: '_supply_' and '_demand_'," Dean chuckled in the darkness.

They crunched between the trees, the tall greens getting closer and more densely leafed as they walked on. Eventually they were pushing through low branches and squeezing through bracken, and Bobby called out.

"Dean - hold up a minute!"

Dean stopped and looked at him. "Whut?"

"If we're having to push our way through here, how could the werewolf have got through?"

"It's a werewolf," Dean shrugged. "And it definitely came this way - there's broken branches and scratched bark all over the place."

Bobby smiled, shaking his head, and Dean flashed the light on his chest, watching him. "Whut?" he asked, bemused.

"It's just that… Well, your dad always said you were the better tracker," Bobby shrugged.

Dean put the light back to the leafy floor, turning again to forge ahead. "Yeah? He also said Aynsley Dunbar was a better drummer than John Bonham."

They pressed on for some time, until Bobby began to look around and check his watch.

"Dean!" he called.

"Whut now?"

"Look, we been walking for nearly an hour - and we're no closer to finding the end of the trail," he pointed out.

"The trees are feathering out," Dean said defensively. "Once we break through we can see where we are and where this thing went."

"We'd better do," he grumped, and they walked on.

Suddenly the trees did indeed peter out, and they found themselves clambering over a small hedge-like lump of bracken and scrub to get to the shorter wild grass on the other side.

"Holy crap," Bobby ground out.

Dean just sighed and put a hand to his chest, rubbing slightly where yesterday's scratch itched against the t-shirt.

"Should we call Sam now and tell him he was right?" Bobby asked, as they looked at the log cabin hide-out they had left only a few hours before.

.

* * *

.

"So I guess you two have had some interesting cases?" Martia fished, watching Sam gaze down at the little girl.

"Some," he admitted.

"Like?"

"Ah… Oh, there are just too many to go through," he said politely, looking at her and shrugging it off with a cheerful nod.

"Ha," she said suspiciously, folding her arms. "Dean would always tell me about the juicier ones. I guess cos he couldn't really discuss it with anyone else."

"Yeah," he said uneasily. He noticed the baby sniff and shift, rolling uncomfortably.

"I get the feeling you don't like him talking about his work," she said slowly.

"Actually Martia? No, I do not," he said.

"Why?" she asked.

Sam watched the tiny girl yawn and fidget, shifting again grumpily.

"Because he was always the first one to tell us that you never discuss the family business outside of the family," he said, a little harshly. "And then I find that every time he meets someone that means something to him, he blabs it all out," he went on, his attention on the sniffling infant.

"Really?" she asked innocently. "Cool."

Sam turned and looked at her. "Cool?" he prompted.

"You just said I mean something to him. That's pretty cool - from my point of view," she said cheekily. He pouted.

"It doesn't bother you that people get hurt and we investigate all kinds of weird, gorey stuff?" he demanded. He heard a cough and a moan and looked at the baby quickly.

"People getting hurt is always a bad thing, Sam, sure. But at least what your family does is making sure it gets investigated properly."

"Yeah - great - whatever," Sam snapped irritably, eyeing the baby. She coughed again and opened her mouth, beginning to whimper and cry.

"Oh look," Martia said warmly, stepping up next to Sam. "Come here, darling," she cooed, reaching down to the baby.

Sam grabbed her wrists and hauled her back quickly.

"Sam! What?" she protested.

Sam stared at the baby, fretting and gurgling, shifting and growling.

"Don't you turn," he whispered vehemently, "_please_ don't you turn!"

* * *

**_Don't you trust me? Ok, go on to the next chapter then. Don't say I didn't warn you..._**


	6. Chapter 6

**SIX**

Dean left Bobby to pull out his phone. He stomped on up to the log cabin hide-out they had used since Sam had lumbered them with the baby in the first place. He tutted to himself, face scrunched in disappointment, as he followed quite clear tracks up to the window round the back.

He shone the torch at the large windows, knowing they separated him from the breakfast room. The very same room he had been sleeping in twenty-four hours ago, a tiny baby lying on him.

A cold shiver went down the back of his neck as he realised how close the miniature werewolf had been to his neck, his chest, his internal organs. He shook his head, hearing Bobby grumble something to himself.

"Whut?" he called over in the pitch.

Bobby stumbled over, pocketing his phone again. "I'm out of battery," he grumped. Dean looked at him - just looked. "Don't you gimme them eyes, boy. I got enough to worry about without charging a damn cell phone."

Dean shrugged in judicious silence, shining the torch at the window again. He pulled his own phone from his pocket, finding Sam's number quickly. He pressed at the button but his thumb slid off the side, flicking the phone up in a magnificent triple-axle somersault that would have won at least a silver medal in any Olympics.

Dean failed to notice the phone's winning performance, however. The phone tumbled down into the leafy soil at his boots and he bent to grab at it quickly. He crouched down to shine the torch and find the darkly coloured phone on the darkly coloured ground, but then paused.

"Bobby," he said curiously, and the older man looked down at where he was pointing the flashlight.

"What?"

"Look at this," he said, pre-occupied.

Bobby sighed and bent down to see.

.

* * *

.

"Sam, let me go!" Martia protested, yanking on her wrists.

But Sam was past listening. He held on fast, watching with wide, fearful eyes as the baby screamed and shivered.

"What's wrong with you? Get offa me!" she hissed, pulling.

She tugged again, then realised he wasn't even looking at her. She hesitated, then looked at his face. Something about the horror, the injustice, the anguish in his eyes and flowing out through his eyebrows made her swallow in fear. She stopped struggling altogether and turned slowly.

She looked down at the cot, watching the baby fret and scream. It was a wail of anger, of pain. It was not the cry of a normal baby in distress.

She turned her hands slowly, grabbing at Sam's jacket round his forearms.

"Sam," she said slowly, "what's wrong with _her_?"

.

* * *

.

Bobby put his hand down and touched the depression in the ground.

"Looks to me like… it's not a werewolf print," he said slowly.

"Could this be… Ho-ly crap," Dean managed suddenly, and Bobby looked at him quickly. Dean tilted his head, studying it from a new angle. "This isn't a werewolf footprint - it's the _human's_ prints," he breathed.

"This thing changed right outside the window?" Bobby gasped.

"Looks like - there, see?" Dean said quickly, pointing to more depressions. "A struggle, a rollin'-around-hurtin' kinda thing going on here…" he added, getting to his feet and taking another step. Bobby stepped back to give him room to see. "And then… and then it all goes quiet… right about… here. And then… feet. Women's feet," he said, confused.

"Women's feet?"

"Women's feet," Dean confirmed, no less baffled. "I'd say about…" He put his foot down alongside, studying the length. "About… size nine? She must be about… five six, five seven tall? Probably no more than a hundred forty pounds," he judged confidently, lifting his boot to stand back again.

Bobby just looked at him. When there was no reply, Dean flicked his light up to his chest to look at the older hunter.

"Whut?"

"Nothing," Bobby said quickly, shaking his head in bemusement, "nothing at all. So now we know it's a girl doing this… Is this her baby?"

Dean pouted for a long moment.

"Ok, get this," he said thoughtfully, spreading a hand as he explained. "This chick's passing through here maybe, with her family. They stay in town, decide to leave, and the night they're making tracks this pack of werewolves grabs them. They eat or turn the husband - assuming there is one - and turn the girl. The girl can't bring herself to kill or turn her own kid so she takes it with her to the lair. Me and Sam bust in and shoot every damn thing, Sam makes off with the kid. Only, the mom's not there at the time, so she avoids the whole death by silver bullet routine."

"Could be," Bobby nodded.

"So now she's the only one left round here, and she's looking to get back what's hers and make a run for it," Dean shrugged. "What do you reckon?"

"Explains the dead guy - she might have seen you two swipe her kid and went lookin'. When she saw that guy who could have passed for you, she broke in and tried to steal the kid."

"And when she realised it wasn't hers, she killed the dude anyway and got back out of there," Dean nodded.

"So why did she come here but not attack you?" Bobby asked, taking off his cap. He scratched at his head slowly in the darkness, and Dean thought for a long second. And then another one. Bobby looked at him. "Well?"

"Uh… I got nothing."

"Right," Bobby said knowingly, then turned in a circle, looking around. Dean's light went back to the forest floor by the windows.

"Except…" he muttered to himself. He lifted a boot and stepped back slowly, crouching to look at the tracks again. "More tracks."

"What is it?" Bobby asked warily. "Don't tell me there's another one on the loose."

"No, they're the same tracks," Dean said nervously. "Ok, change of theory," he said, looking up at the window and then back down at the tracks. "She comes here all wolfed out, ready to eat whoever's holding her kid. She gets to the window, she somehow gets in without causing a noise. She finds me asleep with her kid and decides to rake me to shreds too. Only, her kid's in the way."

"Do you really think a werewolf would stop for a baby?" Bobby asked doubtfully.

"No, but it's the only reason I can think of why I only got a scratch. Maybe she was aiming to pick the baby up. Maybe she wasn't trying to kill me, she was just trying to get the kid out of the way so she could get to me and make kebabs."

"So then why did she leave you and the kid here?"

"Ah… maybe… maybe she started to revert. Maybe seeing her own kid triggered something and she was losing it, falling back on her human side. Maybe… you and Sam came screaming into the parking lot and she panicked, getting back out and leaving these tracks here," he shrugged, indicating the depressions with his free hand.

"Ok, that's all well and good," Bobby sighed. "Any proof?"

"Well, these larger tracks - the wolf tracks - are heading _toward_ the window, but the human tracks are going _away_," Dean pointed out. "And I'm not dead, but the werewolf's definitely been here."

"Right. Sounds better than anything else we got," Bobby said decisively. "So where is she now?"

"Probably wolfed out and looking for her kid," Dean hazarded, straightening up again. He looked at his watch and then up at the bright, shining moon.

"And these things have noses that make narcotics dogs look like humans," Bobby said suddenly. "So… you think she's traced the kid to the hospital?"

"My duffle must stink of that kid by now, and it's been in the Impala," Dean agreed. "And we all went to the hospital in it. There'd be a scent to track, alright."

"So we need to get back to the hospital," Bobby said. "It could be on it's way there right now."

.

* * *

.

The tiny baby girl screamed and screamed, but the noise only blanketed the nursery. Instead of setting off every other sleeping infant, it seemed to chill everyone into silence.

"Sam?" Martia whispered, almost ignorant of the harsh shrilling. Sam didn't respond. He simply stared at the baby, willing her to do something Martia couldn't grasp at.

Abruptly, the little girl stopped screaming. A sudden hush fell over the room.

Sam and Martia held their breath. Somehow, this was worse than the painful noise of before.

The baby opened her eyes and her mouth. Sam and Martia took a hesitant step back.

But she simply let out a phenomenal milky belch that shocked her audience.

Martia jumped, her eyes wide, her hands grasping at Sam's sleeves more tightly. Sam let the noise slap some perspective on the evening as only such a rude eruption of such unexpected volume can. He looked at his hands on Martia's wrists and let her go. Then he watched in amazement as the little girl simply settled back down to a very peaceful sleep.

He couldn't help it; he began to laugh. Martia looked up at him, lost, as his chuckle turned into a loud, uncontrollable belly-laugh that rang round the room. She felt herself grin in relief, then chuckle slightly. Sam managed to recover some semblance of control and looked at her, shaking his head.

Martia stared over the side of the cot at the child, then tore her gaze away to look up at Sam.

"She's ok?" she dared.

Sam put his hand down and stroked at the side of her face gently, the baby simply rolling her head round to lie against it gently.

"She's ok," he breathed, relieved beyond measure.

"Sam…" she began, and he looked at her. "What did you think she was going to do?"

"To tell the truth? I'm not really sure," he smiled. "But I think we can safely say, everything's going to be fine after all."

There was a shrill bell of an old-fashioned telephone and he jumped, reaching into his pocket to grab his phone.

"You're not supposed to have that in this room!" Martia hissed.

He pressed the receive button and walked to the window quickly, keeping his voice low. "Dean?"

"Sam! The werewolf!" Dean cried, and Sam could just make out the sound of the Impala rumbling not so quietly behind his words.

"No, it's ok - it's not the girl," he grinned.

"I know that, dumbass! We've just tracked it to our shack - and now we think it's coming to the hospital!"

"What? Why would it come here?" Sam asked, confused.

Martia came over suddenly, pulling at his arm. "You can't use that in here," she warned.

He put a calming hand out to shush her. "Dean? Dean? Say that again," he said, waving his hand at her to stop talking at him.

"Phones can reset the ventilators," she hissed, and all Sam heard was Dean's voice with indistinguishable words.

"Martia! Quiet!" he cried urgently, and she stopped short.

"--belongs to the werewolf! Grab it and get the hell out!" Dean was saying down the phone.

"What? Grab what?" Sam demanded.

"The baby, numb-nut! Get it and get out!" Dean shouted.

"Come get us!" Sam managed, shoving the Blackberry in his inside pocket and turning to Martia. He took her upper arm gently and pulled her back toward the cot. "Look, I don't have time to explain, but we need that baby and we need to get out of here!"

"What? She's not going anywhere, Sam! You can't just--"

A tremendous smash drowned out her words, and her consequent scream. Sam turned and shoved her behind him.

Standing on the inside of the shattered window was an eight-foot hairy tower of anger. It spread its clawed paws and bayed in fury at the room. As one every baby in the room started to cry.

Sam whipped round. He pushed Martia before him. He dodged to one side and leaned over the cot, snatching up the girl and pressing her to his chest.

"Martia!" he shouted, feeling her hand on his sleeve, "Run!"

She pushed at him and they began to run across the room. They heard the crash and tinkle of broken glass. Martia whimpered in fear. There was an angry roar.

Sam looked back over his shoulder. The creature was standing, confused, looking around the room. It lifted its head and howled at the ceiling, a pitiful cry, waiting for a single baby's reply.

Sam stopped and shoved the baby at Martia. She gasped and grabbed onto her, ignoring her desperate wailing and crying as she felt Sam push her to run. She aimed for the main doors, not looking back.

The wail was all the werewolf needed. Its head snapped around at the sound. It spotted Sam and lunged into a run.

Sam swallowed and leapt back for the doors. He pushed Martia through first and dived after her. He turned and slammed the emergency handle down to seal the door.

"No! The others!" Martia shouted.

He felt a huge force slam into the other side of the door. It rocked and plaster rained down from the beam above the jamb.

"Martia, it won't hurt the others, it's after _her,_" he said quickly. "Get to the car park."

"Wha--"

"_Now!_" he thundered.

She stumbled back from him and turned, running. Staff and nurses appeared, shouting or jabbering at Sam as he put his hands to the door, pushing at it in some primal attempt to keep it shut.

"You there! What's going on?" shouted a large nurse.

"Call the police!" he shouted, his voice thick with desperation. "Have I got to think of everything now? Tell them there's a wild animal in the nursery!"

"An animal! Oh my!" the nurse gasped. She turned and snatched up the phone quickly.

.

* * *

.

Martia ran out to the car park, clutching the screaming baby to her tightly. She tried to catch her breath, looking around desperately.

"Why the car park?" she gabbled, puffing out steam in the slightly dank night air.

She heard a throaty rumbling sound and looked to her right. A long, sleek black car came careering in through the exit and leapt wildly over the speed bump. She hopped back up two steps quickly, watching in amazement as the Impala screeched to a very impressive halt right by her position.

An older man leaned his head out of the passenger window.

"Well come on, girl, get in!" he shouted.

She ran down the steps as his hand snaked out of the window and leaned back, flinging the rear door open. She pushed herself in quickly, just trying to keep the crying baby from being bounced about.

"Mar! Where's Sam?" she heard over the little girl's noise. She looked up to find Dean in the driver's seat, peering past the older man to look at the main doors.

"In - inside," she managed, trying to control her shaking. "He trapped this big animal in the nursery with all the babies! He's mad!"

"He's right," Dean shot back. "It won't attack the others, we've got what it wants."

"You're _both_ mad," she whispered, eyes wide in shock, as the baby simply sniffled.

The main door to the hospital wanged open in an instant and Sam appeared. He tried to check his speed as he reached the top step. He failed.

He tumbled spectacularly down the six or seven steps to the kerb, arms and legs flailing like a Catherine Wheel. He slammed into the side of the car with a pained grunt.

"Goddamn it boy, stop fooling around!" the older man growled.

Martia jumped as a hand came over the edge of the rear off-side door, and then Sam heaved himself to his feet quickly. He pulled open the door and shoved himself into the small gap.

Dean was already flooring the accelerator before both of Sam's feet were safely in. The tyres suddenly found purchase on the car park's tarmac and the Impala leapt into motion. The momentum slammed Sam's door uncomfortably close to his foot.

He hardly noticed. Instead he whipped around and watched the doors.

"Mar! You got the right baby, right? _Please_ tell me you got the right baby," Dean called, steering the old girl through the parked vehicles expertly.

"Ye - yeah, she's right here," she managed shakily. Sam turned and looked at her.

"Everything's going to be fine," he said earnestly, putting his hand on her shoulder. She started in fright and he squeezed her shoulder. "Trust us, it's going to be ok."

"How? How the hell is this going to be ok? We've just run from an animal busting in a hospital window _and_ we've just stolen a baby! Where are we going?" she demanded, her face white as a sheet. The baby started to cry.

"The original lair," Dean said, fish-tailing the car out of the parking lot and onto the thankfully deserted street.

"What?" Bobby and Sam said together, their concerned tones easily discernible over the wailing of the frightened infant in her Martia's arms.

"It knows how to find it. It can track this car and its kid wherever we take it, so we might as well go where we know the terrain. We gotta kill this thing tonight," Dean snapped.

"Kill it?" Sam protested. "What about the baby?"

"Sam! Don't start! It's a werewolf - we _kill_ werewolves!" he cried angrily.

"Dean's right," the older man put in. "Just cos that's its kid don't mean we let it off."

"This is what?" Martia gasped in fear.

"Mar, we'll explain later--"

"No! You explain _now_! You lied to me, Dean Hetfield! You're not a friggin' _insurance investigator_! You never have been, _have you_?" she raged.

"Insurance investigator?" Bobby and Sam echoed in a perfect co-ordination of confusion and surprise.

"I was once," Dean said frankly. "Well, just for one day," he admitted as he rammed the accelerator down as far as it would go, watching the speedometer climb. "Well, my ID said I was an insurance investigator. Except that was fake, so--"

"I hate to interrupt, but please tell me you have silver rounds in the trunk o' this car?" Bobby interjected grumpily.

"Let me guess," Martia said recklessly, "you're not an insurance investigator either, are you?"

"Oh, sorry - Martia, this is Bobby," Sam said quickly. "He's like a--"

"He's our uncle," Dean said loudly. Sam and looked up as Bobby turned in the front seat, sending the younger Winchester a puzzled look. Then he looked at the young nurse.

"Sorry to seem a little agitated, but we're in the middle of something here."

"No problem," she said lamely. "So, if it's not too much trouble, could someone now please explain why we've just taken this baby from the hospital, and what that animal was? Slowly and clearly?"

"That animal wanted the baby. So we took it," Sam said confidently.

"And what was that animal?" she asked fearfully. "You called it a--"

"A werewolf, yes," he said quickly. "Let's side-step the whole 'but they're not real' argument, we can do that one later, ok?" he added with a sympathetic smile.

"Ok," she managed, the baby now quiet against her. "And, just one more thing?" she dared.

"Shoot," Bobby said.

"What are we doing now we have this baby and we're running from a werewolf?"

"Make it to come to us," Dean said firmly from the driver's seat. "Then we kill it."

* * *

**_It's all coming together..._**


	7. Chapter 7

**SEVEN**

Dean slid the Impala to a controlled stop in front of the large, dilapidated barn. The police barricade had already fallen under its own weight, the sticks having keeled over in the soft ground. All that was left to try to keep out any nosy midnight walkers were reams and reams of yellow cordon tape. Lying on the ground.

"Here we are, back at the beginning," Dean called, climbing out and hurrying round the back to the boot. Bobby followed, holding the fake floor up for him as he pushed through guns, knives and all kinds of throwing stars.

"You ever think about putting all this in order?" he said pointedly.

"Thought about stealing the foam insets that Dad had in the back of his truck," Dean admitted. His hand connected with a wooden box and he grabbed it, setting tiny tumblers in place to open the combination lock. He opened the box and handed it to Bobby.

"How many rounds we got?" Sam said, coming round the side.

"Lucky for us our usual supplier had a sale last month," Dean smiled grimly, nodding to the heavy box in Bobby's hands. He hooked his thumbs in his jeans suddenly and half-pulled, half-shifted them uncomfortably. Sam looked perplexed but said nothing, Dean apparently oblivious of his curious frown as he picked up two handguns. "Here," he added, handing them to Sam, "fill 'er up."

Sam took the two guns and began loading them as fast as he could. Bobby put the box on the side of the tail-light and found his own gun, snapping it open and emptying the usual rounds into the boot. He began to push silver rounds in hurriedly.

Dean snapped one magazine up into his Colt handgun and shoved it under his arm to pull the spare clip from his pocket. He began to load that one, too.

"Uh, can I ask a silly question?" Martia said politely from the side of the boot next to Dean. He didn't pause.

"Mar, right now there no ain't such a thing as a silly question," he said, pre-occupied.

"I see. So… you've done this before, right?" she asked nervously. He nodded and she bit her lip, sliding the baby up her chest slightly to a more comfortable position. "Like… a lot?"

"You could say that," he breathed, sliding the now loaded spare clip back into his pocket. He turned and looked at her, taking the gun from under his arm and making sure the safety was on. "Look, I lied, ok? I lied and I don't really investigate insurance fraud, or chase down thieving accountants."

"Yeah, I kinda guessed that," she said quietly, her eyes drawn to the items in the boot of the car. "But… that thing? That werewolf? It was pretty big," she said, looking back at him.

"Just makes it easier to hit," he smiled confidently. She paused, smiling suddenly. "Whut?" he asked, unsure. Sam and Bobby looked up surreptitiously as they continued to load up.

"Nothing. Just… Well, that's the first time I've seen the old Dean since you've been here," she admitted.

"The _old_ Dean?" he pressed, grinning. "Wasn't aware I'd changed."

"There it goes again," she smiled, relieved. "But you have, Dean, you have." She looked at the boot of the car, then back at him. "Be careful. Don't get hurt, and don't die."

"I'll do my best," he winked.

But she stepped up to him and grabbed hold of his jacket by the lapel. "That's not good enough. You don't just do your best and be done with it, Dean Hetfield. You kill this thing and live to tell me about all those times you lied about where you'd been."

"Whut?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about - '_oh, just going to Joe's for an all-nighter_', you said. There was no Joe - so what creature did you kill _that_ night? '_Oh, just going up-state for the weekend, be right back_', you said. Except there were no extra miles on the clock of your Impala and the snowglobe you got me '_from Nebraska_' was made in Wichita - a mile down the road from a grave-robbing! Was that a werewolf too?"

Sam and Bobby exchanged an amused glance.

Dean sniffed. "You checked up on me?"

"Yeah I checked up on you! I thought you were banging every other girl in a four-state radius!" she accused.

Dean's face twitched slightly in defence, but quickly morphed back into a smooth version of detached amusement.

"Well, hey, Mar… if you never trusted me with your house keys, you just had to say," he smiled, looking back at the trunk.

There was an awful silence, Sam and Bobby deciding they really wanted to be elsewhere.

Martia let go of his jacket, putting her hand over her mouth gently. "Oh," she realised.

Sam and Bobby looked up and then away quickly, pretending they weren't really a party to her guilty shock.

"You didn't, did you?" she whispered.

"Obviously I look like the kinda guy who would," he said politely with a serene smile, deliberately turning back to the boot of the car. "I might have lied about my job, the family business, where I was three nights out of seven, what I was really doin' when I was out of state… but when I was here in Topeka, I never cheated on you, Mar. Not once," he continued cheerfully, busy shoving weapons around the boot.

She bit her lip. "Sorry," she managed.

"Oh, and my name," he continued, straightening and looking at her with a smooth smirk that covered everything from hurt to sour vindication. "It ain't Hetfield. It's Winchester. 'Spose you're going to get ansy about that, too," he added easily.

"Winchester?" she echoed. "Figures."

"When you're ready," Bobby interrupted, and Dean looked back at the older Hunter over his shoulder. But Martia put her hand out again and took hold of his jacket firmly. She pulled on it to bring him closer to her.

"I'm sorry." She paused. "Kill it. And don't die," she instructed quietly. Then she pulled on the material in her hand. She kissed him firmly by the mouth, watching his eyes study her carefully.

Sam glanced up, noticed, and let his eyes spin 360 degrees before putting the box of silver rounds back in the boot and checking the safeties were on both of his handguns. He walked round to the driver's door, leaned in the window, and snagged the keys from the ignition barrel.

He walked back round and pocketed the keys, looking at Bobby. "We'll take the front?" he asked.

"You two take the front. And find a good hiding place for the young miss here," he said, gesturing to one side with his head. Sam looked over.

"Dean," he said politely. "We got a werewolf coming sometime soon."

His older brother was just watching Martia, somehow confused. But she leaned forward and kissed him again, noticing he simply reverted to Autopilot, still working something through his head. She patted his front, pushing him back slightly.

"That's the Dean I remember," she winked.

Dean grinned at her with intent until Bobby dropped a heavy hand on his shoulder. He jumped slightly and his face fell as he turned to look at him. Then he looked back at Martia.

"Right, ah… You go with Bobby here," he said, clearing his throat professionally. "He'll keep you two safe till we can kill it."

"You sure?" she asked.

"Oh yeah," Bobby scoffed, looking at Dean meaningfully, "apparently I could eat flour and shit cupcakes. Ain't that right, son?"

Martia burst into laughter but Dean looked at his younger brother accusingly. Sam just shrugged helplessly, a very wide, cheeky smile across his face.

Martia sobered quickly. "Ok then," she said, shifting the baby against her more tightly, "where do we hide?"

.

* * *

.

Bobby waited for her to climb up the ladder slowly, baby in one arm. She made it to the top and looked around. She found a wide open space that had once been filled with hay bales. Now all it held were a few scattered lumps of straw, a stack of buckets, and a row of large dusty plastic drums.

She heard Bobby reach the top and turned to see him climbing over. He pulled at the ladder and yanked it up after them, lying it out flat on the slatting. He looked over at her, wiping his hands together.

"Right then, you and me better find a place where we can't be seen," he nodded. She followed him more to the back of the broad shelf, stroking at the baby's back slowly as she started to fidget.

.

* * *

.

Sam and Dean crouched behind the Impala, guns in hand but safeties on. The moon was large and round, almost directly above them, the deceptively bright light bathing the entire barn and surroundings in pale, ethereal shadows.

There was the sound of an owl-like bird somewhere nearby, hooting and waiting for an answer. The wind rustled the bushes behind them lazily, and it suddenly appeared to be a perfect night for a quiet stroll.

"Hey, Dean? Ah… sorry," Sam whispered suddenly.

Dean turned his head to look at him from his hiding place behind the rear near-side door. "What for? You got the kid and the damsel in distress, right?" he whispered back.

Sam squirmed visibly, leaning the side of his head against the rear wing gently. "No… I thought… I just thought you'd told Martia our _real_ family business, that's all," he managed.

"You didn't trust me," Dean tutted with a tiny teasing smile, looking up through the rear window again, across the moonlit scene.

"I guess I didn't," Sam muttered. "I just thought… Well, you told other girls, and you seem to really like this Martia, so--"

"Woah, woah, woah," Dean protested, his face suddenly twisting in indignation as he looked back at him. "What 'other girls'?"

"Well, Cassie, for one--"

"She was different. And she was the _only_ one I've ever told. I learnt my lesson after _that_ mess, thank you Jerry Springer," he added sourly. Sam studied his profile in the darkness, wondering if he were referring to telling her or what came after. It was silent until Dean felt he was being watched and looked back at him. "Whut now?"

"Nothing," Sam said quickly. "Nothing."

Dean just watched him for a moment longer. Then he turned to look back through the window, shaking his head slightly. It was silent save the slight rustle of trees far behind them.

Dean shifted slightly, grimacing, Sam noticed.

"What, your jeans itch?" he tutted. "Should have washed them when I did mine back before we raided this werewolf barn in the first place."

"Just watch for it leaping out of the bushes over there."

"Fine."

"Fine." Dean huffed through his nose slightly, wincing as he moved again. Sam slid his eyes over to him, realised his brother was distinctly uncomfortable, and let himself smile slightly.

Silence fell over the scene and they simply stared. The dark, gently swaying tree branches over the other side of the clearing began to morph the more Sam stared at them. He peered into the inky blackness, trying to make out the dark shapes that moved and wisped like tiny clouds of doubt.

He put his left hand up and rubbed his eyes, blinking and looking back up over the boot of the car.

"Aah… Dean?" he said quietly.

"Hmm."

"Can I ask you a question, man?"

"Hmm."

"What's… What's with you and this baby?" he said bravely, watching his brother stare into the pitch.

"Whut?"

"Come on, dude. You've been avoiding her like she's Hellspawn. Why?"

"Do I need to remind you of the smell?" he said irritably, not looking at his younger brother.

"That's it? The smell? I'm supposed to believe you're keeping as far away from her as possible cos she stinks sometimes?"

"_Some_times?" Dean prompted, but still he didn't look at him. "And the screaming. And who says I have a problem with it? Maybe I just hate everyone cos sleeping is impossible with that thing around."

"Yeah right," Sam smiled, genuinely amused by his older brother's attempt to deflect the scrutiny. "I notice you're really hating on Bobby and Martia right now."

"Well I'm hatin' on _you_," Dean said stiffly. "You're just being a pain in the ass cos you have a thing for this kid, and you're pissed no-one else has been as soft as you with it."

Sam's face fell slowly. "That's so not funny."

"You think?" Dean said gruffly, keeping his eyes on the moonlit clearing between the car and the barn doors. "Look, man," he said suddenly, letting his shoulders sag and his head fall slightly. He looked at his hands on the gun and Sam waited. "I get it, ok?" he managed.

"Meaning?" Sam prompted quietly.

"Just that… it's a cute kid, really."

"But?"

"But… it's not… It's not me, y'know? It's just not," he said tightly, then looked back over the boot of the car.

Sam watched him, but his old brother ignored him admirably.

"You're worried about your tough-guy image, right?" he said, realisation dawning. "You think that once me and Bobby see you actually _like_ her, we'll never take you seriously again!" he grinned.

"Oh puh-leeze," Dean sighed, his eyes rolling faster and more efficiently than even Sam's. "Like that's all there is to life."

"A-haa," Sam chuckled, watching a very slight reddish hue tinge the tips of Dean's ears, "now I know." He paused, grinning at the way Dean looked out, ignoring him. "Dean loves the ba-by," he sang cheerfully, tilting his head from side to side. "Dean loves the--"

"You want this gun inserted horizontally or vertically?" Dean interrupted harshly, and Sam gasped, delighted he had managed to irk him.

"Well Dean, all you had to say what that you--"

There was a sudden scream and their heads snapped round to the barn doors.

"It's already in there?" Sam guessed. "But how?"

"God_damm_it!" Dean hissed, pushing himself to his feet.

He took off in the direction of the barn doors. Sam leapt up and followed. They ran to the large wooden doors, skidding to a stop before they banged into them.

Sam crept up and looked through the broken panel by his face. He stepped back one and without even checking for Dean, lifted a foot and booted in the dilapidated door.

It flew back and Sam charged in, gun ready. Dean sped in after him.

The hay bales and junked farm equipment cast a multitude of shadows throughout the barn. Sam and Dean skidded to a synchronised halt, guns pointed at the floor. They surveyed the large enclosure carefully.

"Bobby?" Dean called hoarsely, trying, perversely, not to make too much noise. There was no answer. "Son of a bitch," he groused under his breath, pushing at Sam's shoulder to make him walk forward.

Sam took a step and then banked left. He looked at the large hay bales suspiciously, sidling closer, hearing Dean's boots shift on the wooden flooring behind him.

Dean moved as silently as he could to his right, toward the stacks of hay and empty wax sacks. He lifted the gun slowly, drawing back as he side-stepped round the side. He pushed the gun round first, then his head.

Nothing.

He stepped back carefully, looking up and finding the slatting nearly above him. He noticed a few large plastic tubs of some kind of pesticide with warning symbols on, and decided it would be prudent to step away from being underneath them, sealed or no.

Sam leapt round the hay bale, finding it silent and still. He looked at the floor carefully, trying to spot any tracks that might help him. The hay strewn about the boards appeared to be undisturbed.

He turned slowly, raising the gun up close to his head, staring round the barn.

"Bobby!" he heard Dean call again. "Mar!"

Again there was silence.

Sam clenched his jaw nervously. He shivered suddenly, feeling someone's eyes on him. He looked around instinctively, saw nothing, and then looked up.

A mass of fur and claws roared and launched itself at him. He barely had time to get off one shot before it collided with him. Werewolf and Winchester pounded into the floor. Sam flailed and managed to get his hands to the neck. Dripping, snapping jaws slammed close to his cheek.

He pushed up desperately. The werewolf turned its full strength on him. It pushed and snarled at the younger brother, struggling to get its teeth to his face. Sam wrenched and growled, pushing his knees up, trying to shove it backwards.

There was a shot and a howl.

The werewolf rolled off him, bellowing in anger. Sam lay back for a second. He grabbed at the wooden flooring, trying to roll to his right. Hands grabbed at his arm and yanked, and he found himself on his front, his gun under his hand.

"Get up!" Dean hissed, straightening and aiming his gun arm.

Sam clawed at the floor, winded and unable to breathe straight. The werewolf spread its clawed hands and bayed, blood pouring from a wound to its leg. It took a deep breath and lunged.

Dean's preservation instinct realised Sam was still in the line of attack. His eyes flicked down. His subconscious assessed the danger to Sam. His feet moved before he could tell them it was a really, _really_ bad idea.

The werewolf aimed for the prone man on the boards. It was surprised to slam into the other human instead. The force of the leap sent both Dean and the creature to the floor. The werewolf rolled to its feet with literally superhuman agility and speed. It looked at its two targets, both struggling to find which way was up and breathe at the same time.

It lifted its nose and its mouth fell open, howling at the delicious choice for dinner.

A single, tiny sound echoed throughout the barn. The wolf caught its breath, its ears perking immediately.

And there it was again; the thin wail of a frightened baby. It slapped its immense jaws closed, forgetting the two dazed humans on the floor in an instant. Instead it turned its attention to the far wall. It darted around the fallen men, ears and eyes only for finding the source of the wail.

Sam clambered to its feet. His ears ringing, his vision blurred, he raised the gun at the werewolf.

It paused to assess how likely it was that the noise had come from the shelf of slatting above its head. Sam closed one eye, willing his world to stop spinning. He aimed as best he could and fired.

Everything happened at once:

An almighty _clang_. A sharp ringing of metal on metal. A _ping - whizz_ that told Sam his shot had not hit the werewolf at all.

He heard something shuffle behind him. The sudden bright flash of a spark made him duck. An echoing _ping - whizz_ made it known his bullet was still ricocheting round the barn. He threw his arms up in a half-hearted attempt to prevent it hitting his head.

The werewolf sucked in a breath and roared in furious indignation.

There was a dull slapping sound and the werewolf stopped.

Sam turned himself round to the sound and let his arms fall from his face. He saw the werewolf. It was standing under the ledge, a large plastic tub of pesticide now ripped open by Sam's ricochet. The gloopy liquid spilled down into the wolf's eyes and maw, distracting it admirably.

Sam just stared, unable to look away from the creature trying to stop any more potentially harmful chemicals go straight into its lungs.

He heard a shuffle and turned, spooked.

Dean was on his front on the dusty floor. He scrabbled in the forgotten hay. His fingers connected with his fallen Colt. He snatched it up. He lifted it. He fired.

The shot rang out dangerously loud. It hit the creature straight in the heart. The werewolf stiffened.

There was an eerie silence. Sam and Dean gawped, frozen in their places by hope and wishful thinking.

The werewolf gulped and spewed a tiny amount of bright green liquid. There was a rumbling, gurgling sound. Dean got to his feet quickly, grabbing at Sam's shoulder. He pulled him backwards.

As Sam stumbled, the rumbling hit eruption point.

A shuddering, vociferous _pop_ echoed round the barn. The force of the explosion rocked the shelves and discarded farming equipment. The boys were pushed off their feet, landing hard on their behinds in the hay.

Then the splattering and squishing began. Sam held his arms over his face, feeling warm, wet liquid rain down on him. It went on for what seemed like an eternity.

Eventually it stopped. He lifted his arms cautiously, peeking past them to see the barn.

Everything was covered in strips or small splodgy circles of something red and dripping. Here and there were small patches of green or tiny hard, white chunks.

Mystified, Sam sat up and looked around.

"Dean?" he dared.

"Son - of - a - bitch," came a much-unimpressed grunt, and Sam twisted to look behind him.

His older brother was pushing himself up to sit, flinging red dripping gore from his arms and hands with little flicks of his wrists that did much to communicate his distaste.

"You ok, man?" Sam ventured. Dean looked at him and Sam had to grin; his brother's face and neck had survived the bathing in werewolf entrails, but the rest of him was completely covered. Dean looked back at him, annoyed for one moment, then started to grin too. _I guess I'm all painted in wolf blood and shredded body parts, too_, he concluded.

"Dude," Dean chuckled, apparently lost for words.

Sam put his hands to the floor and laboriously got to his feet. "Bobby!" he shouted. "It's dead!"

"Hell's bells and buckets of blood!" came a shout. The Winchesters turned to see Bobby at the main door, looking in. "You were supposed to kill it, not redecorate with it!"

Sam laughed, unable to stop himself. Dean scrabbled to his feet quickly.

"Sam shot it. Except he missed," he said smartly.

Sam looked at him. "Yeah - why'd it explode like that?"

"It exploded?" Martia said timidly, poking her head round the main door to the barn. She looked at the two boys and gasped.

"Kinda," Sam said apologetically.

"Any idea why?" Bobby frowned.

Dean batted at his jeans in an ineffectual attempt to make some gore and chunks of bone stop clinging to him. "Cos it was taking down the pesticide 'fore I shot it," he said, pre-occupied.

"And what has pesticide got to do with anything?" Sam asked, confused. Dean stopped smacking hands against his jeans and looked at him.

"Sam, I'm surprised. A nice college kid like you don't know what they used to put in pesticide?" he tutted with a malicious smirk.

Sam shrugged and circled an impatient hand at Dean.

"Silver acetate," Dean supplied, lifting his hands up, angling for applause.

Sam 'oh'ed and looked at Bobby, shrugging. "Like anyone else would know that."

"Just call me Detective Dean Winchester, CSI Topeka," he grinned.

Bobby huffed slightly. "Well you two look like you could do with several showers," he said. "We have to make like trees right now before the cops arrive, and the young miss has to get that kid to a hospital. It's been through enough."

"Yes Bobby," the boys said in tandem, and Martia smiled to herself. Bobby turned to her and she winked at him, walking off. He followed her, leaving the two brothers to swipe blood and gore off themselves briskly as best they could.

"Come on, man. I'll fight you for the shower," Dean sighed, walking to the barn doors.

"I think this is soaking into my shorts," Sam grimaced, pulling at the jeans pockets at the front and then the back ones to make the cotton stop sticking to him. He squirmed, walking in a completely discombobulated manner. He suddenly reminded Dean of a small child that needed the toilet. "Another pair I'll have to throw out," Sam added.

Dean hooked his thumbs in the beltloops of his own jeans, pulling and shifting them. "'Least you got some spare to throw out," he muttered.

Sam frowned, confused. "Meaning?"

"Meaning I wish I was wearin' some that could soak up some of this crap," he grumbled. Sam gaped at him and stopped dead. Dean noticed and paused his purposeful stride. "Whut?" he managed, rather uncomfortably.

"You're not wearing any--"

"Two words Sam: non-existent laundry," he bit out, then turned and walked toward the doors.

Sam watched him hobble off in clear discomfort, and then threw his head back and laughed.

For a long time.

It wasn't till Bobby poked his head through the barn doors and ordered him into the Impala that he pulled himself together and cheerily obeyed. He still had things to do, after all.

* * *

**_Next chapter up in a few hours - got to scoot on out right now! Thanks for reading, everyone!_**


	8. Chapter 8

**EIGHT**

Sam opened the cabin door and crossed the main room. He went into the larger bedroom, the one Dean had automatically adopted as soon as they had stepped into the place, and dumped his duffle gratefully onto the bed. It slid off over the side, hitting the floor, but he really couldn't care. He waved a hand at it and grabbed two large towels, going straight into the en-suite bathroom.

He stripped off his bloody, foetid clothes and dropped them in a pile in the corner of the bathroom. He turned on the shower, feeling at the hot water piping out over his fingers and grinning. He hopped into the square cubicle, pulling the glass door closed and leaning under the water.

He had never been more grateful to feel the hot water running over him, washing away more than just blood and gore.

This time it also washed away the ugliness, the uncertainty, of a baby that may or may not have turned out to be a werewolf. Hardened since his Trickster days, he knew he would still never be able to kill something so small and apparently helpless - even if it were killing humans.

He hummed to himself, relieved beyond measure that, for once, things had gone his way. Just this once, it had panned out - he had killed only bad things, no-one and nothing had been killed in its place, and they had bagged the bad guy.

Spectacularly.

Sam grabbed at the bar of soap and made good use of it, even frothing it in his hands to drag them through his hair, trying to loosen the sawdust and hay from it. All too soon he felt the water starting to cool and had an abrupt pang of guilt; Dean would have to wait a while for it to heat up again.

But even that couldn't dampen his mood. He grinned and hummed as he washed off the soap, slapping the small round cake into the soap dish in the wall. He turned off the water and let himself drip for a moment, shaking his hands before opening the door and scooping up the largest towel.

He pressed it to his face first, sniffing and feeling extremely glad to be clean and free of worry for once. Just for today, things were fine. Just for today, everything was coming up roses.

He wrapped the towel round him and stepped out of the cubicle. He realised he could hear the front door closing and remembered Dean must be helping Martia with the baby. As he began to towel himself off, he heard voices in the bedroom right outside the bathroom door, and paused to listen.

.

* * *

.

"You sure you'll be alright with her? It's just for an hour or so - Bobby says he needs me to help fake some records for her," Martia said.

"We'll be fine," Dean assured her with a smirk. "Go. The sooner you get it straightened out, the sooner I can get shot of the little monster for good."

"You don't mean that," Martia teased, but there was a look in his eyes she recognised but didn't take to. "I'll be quick."

"Thanks."

She looked at the carry-seat on the table behind him, then smiled brightly. She turned and left the bedroom quickly, and he heard the main door open and close.

Dean turned and pushed his hands deep into his blood-soaked pockets that had dried stiff as a board. He sniffed in disapproval, watching the tiny baby giggle and kick from her perch.

"I ah… I guess I owe you an apology," he said confidently, wandering closer and looking down at her. "I just shot your mom. She _was_ a werewolf, though," he added hastily. "You're better off, trust me."

He looked around the room surreptitiously. Then he stared down at her.

"This is a cat thing, right? I mean, you only like me the same reason cats like some people but hate others? Cos I'm not all over you, trying to make you love me? Cos I ignore you? Yeah, I got that," he said uncomfortably. He cleared his throat. "So I 'spose I owe you an explanation about that too, huh?" he added with brash, false cheer. "I mean, I been a bit cold with you the whole time. Now that you're going back to the hospital, this is my last chance to straighten a few things out."

He put his hands on the table either side of her carry-seat, leaning on them and watching her move.

"It's not that I want to get rid of you, not really. I mean, you ain't half bad when you're not screaming the place down, know what I mean?" he breathed with an attempt at a smile. "But… you got everything to grow up for. See, when my brother was your age, he lost a home and his mom. But he still had me and Dad. Right now, you got no-one, but you will do. Someone's gonna come along, take one look at you and take you home. I'm not just saying that to be nice," he smiled. "Tell the truth, I seen a lot of pretty girls, but you've got miles on every one of them. Trust me, this is something I know a lot about."

The baby shifted and gurgled.

"You're just… something I was never meant to have, y'know? It's never gonna be part of _my_ life, I'm never gonna get my own one of you, it's just not me. I tried to tell Sammy that, but… he just don't get it… and why should he?" He paused for a long moment, running a slow, thoughtful tongue over his lower lip as he watched the child. "I got to hand you over to someone so they can take you home, give you a good start. A good life."

He shifted and lifted his right hand, putting it down to her tiny limb. He put his index finger under four of hers, smoothing his thumb over them gently, amazed at their miniature size. She chirruped unexpectedly and grasped his finger, clutching tightly. She sighed and blew a wet bubble, and he just watched, entranced, for a long moment.

Presently he pulled himself together, sighing with the injustice.

"It's just… I can't get attached to you, can't let maself like you, y'know? Cos… I ain't going to be around for much longer, and knowing there's good stuff like you about just makes it even harder to do what I have to do. So… it ain't you," he said confidently, shaking his head, feeling her tiny hand grip his so securely. "It ain't you. I agreed to do something, and I don't mind telling you, it ain't sitting well with me right now. Not when there's all this stuff I haven't done yet. So I can't even notice you, can't even acknowledge the fact that there are good things like you left to see, cos… Well I gotta be somewhere. But you have all the time in the world, sweetheart."

He straightened slowly and carefully retrieved his finger from her grasp. He felt the reluctance in his movements and closed his fist, taking a slight step back.

"I just hope you grow up in a world where good things happen to good people, and there are no monsters under the bed," he said, smiling to try and cover the emptiness to his barrel of hope. "I hope you never have another need for people like me and my brother."

He let his eyes drop to the floor, then shook his head at himself. He turned away and headed for his bed.

He realised he had forgotten to bring his duffle in from the car, and tutted. He looked over at the baby, then at the bedroom door. He wandered over to her again.

"Don't you move, ok?" he smiled. "I'll be right back."

He pulled his car keys from his pocket, jangling them as he walked out of the door. It banged closed behind him, and the baby giggled. The front door to the cabin opened and closed as she kicked her feet about.

Sam opened the bathroom door cautiously, letting it simply swing open as he looked around the room. He walked out with a slowness born of anguish and compassion.

He looked at the bedroom door, trying to twist his face into something other than a heart-rending illustration of dolor. He blinked and realised his eyes were too full.

He swallowed, looking down at the baby.

He said nothing.

But his eyes did.

.

* * *

.

"I'll just wait out here to make sure you two actually drop her off," Bobby called gruffly, watching Sam, Dean and Martia climb out of the Impala parked next to his car.

"If he don't leave the thing in there this time, I'll personally Superglue his eyes open so he knows how it feels never being able to sleep," Dean grumped. Sam looked at him for a second, opening his mouth. Martia noticed his eyes turn sad as he gave up on whatever he was about to say, instead looking away.

"Come on then," she said, forcing herself to be cheerful.

The three of them walked up the steps and into the hospital, the tiny baby gurgling and fidgeting in Sam's arms. They walked through the busy reception and she led them through to the nursery again.

As Sam laid her down gently, watching her with a small, fond smile on his face, Martia looked at Dean.

"We're all done here," she said slowly. He was looking round the room, as if bored. He turned quickly.

"Whut?" he asked quickly, focusing on her. She recognised the attempt at detachment and smiled, folding her arms.

"I said, we're done," she said, Sam straightening and looking at them both. His eyes sagged, his eyebrows hitching up in the middle in apologetic weariness.

"Dude," Dean sighed, enervatedly rubbing his forehead and then looking at his younger brother again. "Suck it up, man, we gotta go."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, nodding. _Like you have? Fine. If you can do it, so can I_, he managed, trying not to let the overheard monologue in the bedroom spring to mind for the third time since he'd been Dean's unwitting audience.

"Right then," Dean nodded.

"There's just one more thing," Martia said quickly, as the two of them turned to find the exit.

"What?" Sam asked, a little hope in his tone.

She let herself smile. "She still doesn't have a name. She needs to be entered into the adoption register, and we can't do that without a name. A forename, at least. Bobby said Sam would have one."

"Oh, well…" Sam began. He looked at Dean, who made his eyes study his feet on the clean floor with a speed of which Superman would have been proud. Dean rubbed a tired hand through his hair, continuing to stare at his boots. Sam looked back at Martia helplessly. "You got a pen?" he asked.

She reached over and picked up a clipboard, leafing through a few sheets and tucking them behind the board. She pulled out the attached pen and handed both to him.

Sam thought for a second. "Something grand," he smiled. "Something that says 'I had a real scary start, but nothing's gonna stop me now'," he added with amusement. He clicked the pen decisively and scrawled something on the sheet. He handed the board back to Martia. "There."

"Great," she said, casting her eyes down the paper and smiling. "Guinevere?" she read.

Dean's head came halfway up, then shot back down again. There was a muffled cough and Sam looked at him.

"What's wrong with Guinevere?" he protested.

"Nothing, Sam, absolutely nothing," Dean said politely, looking up. He put a closed fist to his mouth, coughing vaguely. "Well then, shall we?" he said, blinking bright, innocent eyes at his younger brother.

Sam smiled, relieved. "Let's go then," he said with a definitely satisfied air. Dean nodded, then looked at Martia.

"I'm just gonna say goodbye here," he said lightly to Sam. "You wanna stick around and watch? Might learn a few things," he added maliciously.

Sam's eyes rolled with more speed than a returning NASA rocket. He shook his head and looked at Martia.

"Thanks for everything," he said meaningfully. She grinned.

"Thank _you_," she countered. "Look after yourself, Sam. Now I know why he thinks the world of you," she winked.

Dean looked outraged, turning to look at her with such righteous indignation she could have been forgiven for thinking she'd just accused him of being Charlie Manson.

"Yeah - the _nether_world," Dean protested clearly.

Sam simply winked at her from behind his brother, absolutely tickled he would never see it. Then he clapped a heavy hand on Dean's shoulder, patting.

"I'm gone. Say your goodbyes," he said, patting once more and walking off.

Dean turned and watched him go, waiting till he was pulling open the door and letting himself out of the nursery. He watched the door close behind him, then turned to Martia quickly.

"Give me that," he hissed, taking the clipboard from her and clicking the pen. He scrubbed out Sam's spidery scrawl. "Guinevere my ass," he tutted. He scribbled and then handed it back.

Martia grinned as she took it from him, spying the improved name.

"Mary?" she wondered.

"Mary," Dean nodded. "Don't you tell him I changed it," he warned.

"I promise I won't," she teased. "Cross my heart and hope to--"

"Anyway," he interrupted loudly, and her smile faltered. "Time I put my feet to the street, missy."

"You always say that," she grinned, shaking her head. "You know, sometimes you're exactly like you used to be, exactly as I remember you," she marvelled. "And then there are these moments you look… Well, different."

"Yeah, got my hair cut," he smirked.

"I noticed."

"Thanks."

"I like it longer."

"I like ice-cream with hundreds n' thousands in it, but we don't always get what we want," he grinned cheekily.

She chuckled. "What if I want you to come back here when you're not so busy? Now that I know what you do."

"You still want me to? Knowing what I _do_ do?"

"Doo-doo?" she grinned, pointing at him. He laughed, shaking his head.

"Yeah, doo-doo," he confirmed. She sighed, putting her hand out to his face, searching his eyes slowly.

"Yes, I want you to come back. One day when you're not busy killing creatures in the night, or tracking monsters under people's beds… Just turn up here. Just walk in like you've never been away."

"Seriously?" he asked, his eyebrows twitching in concern.

"Seriously. Tell the truth, I… I sometimes take my break in the old staff room out back, just so I can see the parking lot. I used to hope I'd see your amazing car pull in one day, and you'd get out and say 'hi, Mar, long time no see'."

"What would happen if I did that? Just for one day?" he asked quietly, and for the first time in her life, Martia realised he was unsure of himself.

"I'd make you stay," she said confidently. "Forever."

He studied her eyes for a long moment.

"Staying forever ain't a problem," he admitted, his eyes clouded with something at which she could only guess. "It's the 'where' that's the thing."

"You don't want to?" she dared, letting her good humour die away. He swallowed.

"It's not about what I _want_, Mar. It's… it's already decided for me," he breathed.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, suddenly worried. "What's been decided?"

He stared into her eyes for a long moment, and she became ever more unsettled.

"Dean - what have you done?" she demanded urgently.

_Tell her. Tell her what a stupid thing you've done, for Sam, for everyone. Tell her every damn thing you've ever done for this piss-poor excuse for a family - that really only amounts to you and Sam, now. And why is that again? It's all your fault, Dean, all of it. You found Sam and made him help you find Dad. Now Dad's dead - your fault - and Sam died too. Why? Cos you weren't asshole enough to stop it. So what did you do? The only thing you could? You worthless, lying, useless excuse for a failure - you tell yourself it's cos it was all you could do. But if you'd just been a little stronger in the first place, Dad wouldn't have died, and neither would Sam. And then all three of you would still be together this time next year._

The thoughts ran through his head, not pausing to heed his begging that they stop.

"Dean - what is it?" she asked gently, stroking at his face slightly.

He smiled suddenly, making it touch his eyes. "Nothing," he said cheerfully, and she took a deep breath, sighing it out. "Nothing to worry about."

"Good. You were starting to freak me out," she said with a smile, but she still sounded nervous.

"Naw - everything's gonna be fine," he asserted, putting his arms out and pulling her into a hug. She rested her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes.

"I hope so, Dean. I hope you stay safe. I hope you don't get hurt, doing what you do. And I hope you come back to see me one day."

"Yeah, of course," he said with a wide smile, pulling her back to look at her.

"Don't say that," she said worriedly.

"Whut?"

"Don't say 'yes, of course'. Just say yes," she said quietly, watching him avidly.

"Why?"

"Because 'yes' is the truth - 'of course' is _not,_" she said.

He chuckled suddenly, catching her by surprise. "Ok then, yes," he said clearly. "I'll come back and see you."

"Good," she said, relief pouring off her like rain. "You'd better go see to your brother," she said, gesturing over his shoulder with her chin.

"Yeah. He's probably crying with Separation Anxiety already," he winked. She smiled and he put a hand to her face, kissing her soundly for a long moment. "Take care of yourself, Mar."

"And you, Dean. Be careful."

He smiled once, then turned and walked away.

She sighed unhappily, then looked around the nursery slowly. She picked up the clipboard, read the name again, and smiled to herself. Then she put it down and looked at her watch, deciding she needed a shower before her official shift started.

.

* * *

.

Dean opened the driver's door on the Impala slowly, hesitating as he looked back at the hospital doors.

"What now?" Sam called from the passenger seat. "I'm not hanging round here while you go back in and bang some nurse."

"Language, Sammy, we're outside a kiddies' hospital," Dean grunted, sliding into the seat and squeaking the door closed.

Sam smiled, watching him lean forward and push the key into the ignition. But instead of turning it, Dean simply sat back and let his unsettled thoughts cloud his face.

"What?" Sam asked quietly. Dean flicked his eyes up to his left, at the hospital steps. "I take it she's still on your list of Must Visit Tourist Attractions?" he teased.

Dean looked away quickly, to the steering wheel. "Yeah," he admitted, but it was barely above a whisper. Sam's face fell slowly.

"Ok, what is it?" Sam said, in a very no-nonsense tone. "I'm not following Bobby all the way back to the interstate with you in one of your moods." He smiled as he folded his arms, waiting.

"I ah… Nothing, Sam," he managed, putting his hand out to the key in the ignition.

"Alright dude, but the first person to sigh or roll his eyes springs for pie."

Dean's hand fell back to his knee and he looked at Sam with a very damning expression. Sam's momentary happiness at a Hunt well done collapsed in on itself. He cleared his throat slowly.

"I lied to her," Dean said clearly. "There. That do you?"

"Relax, Dean. We lie to everyone about our job," Sam said easily, shaking his head. "You taught me that, remember?"

"Not about our job."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Then what? What else could have been so important that you'd lie to protect it?"

Dean looked back over at the hospital, thinking. He chewed on his lip for a second.

_I told her I'd come back and see her._ "I told her everything's going to be fine," he muttered.

"And it is. We got the werewolf and the baby's going on the adoption list. Everything's as it should be," he nodded, well pleased with himself as he looked out of the front windscreen.

Dean slid his eyes round and then his head followed. He looked at Sam for a long second. The younger brother realised he was being studied and looked over.

"What?" he asked.

Dean opened his mouth, thought about it, and then his face changed. It wasn't exactly a smile, but there was something decidedly more pleasant about it. "You're right," he nodded, shrugging to himself. "Everything is going to be fine." _Of course it is. Of course._

Sam watched him as he leaned forward and turned the key. Dean listened to the purr of the engine, letting the sound wash over him and nudge all of his misgivings to one side.

"Listen to that," he muttered to himself in appreciation, and Sam snorted in amusement. Dean ignored him and put the old girl into gear. He checked his mirrors before looking up and watching Bobby's car pull out in front of them. He spared Sam a single glance before falling into line behind him.

The Impala growled in approval as they hit the main road, heading back to the Kansas Turnpike. Dean squeezed the wheel slightly, letting a small, smug smile steal over his face at the sound of the engine.

Sam noticed. "Happy now?" he teased.

"Two words, Sammy--" Dean began.

"No no no - don't tell me, I know," Sam interrupted: "_bite me_."

.

**THE END**

* * *

**_Well that's it - hope you liked how it all turned out. Thanks everyone who read right to the end! Very much appreciated!_**


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